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WHEN WE WERE 
TWENTY-ONE 



/?j 



dome&s in font Hcts 



BY 



H. V. ESMOND 



Copyright, 1903, by^ Samuel French 



Caution : — Amateurs are hereby notified that this play is fully copyrighted 
under the existing laws of the United States Government, and they are not 
allowed to produce this play without first having obtained permission 
from Samuel French, 24 West 22d Street, New York City, U. S. A. 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

26 WEST 22D STREET 



London 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 

PUBLISHERS 

89 STRAND 



Ltd. 



' THt LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Keceived 

MAY 8 1903 

Copyright hniry 
hXcu^. i I- /CI ^ 
CLASS /^ XXc No. 

3^ 1 ^ ^ 

COPY B. 






WHEN WE WEEE TWENTY-ONE. 



Performed at the Comedy Theatre, London, Sept. 2, 1901. 

CHARACTERS. 

Richard Carewe Mr. Nat Goodwin 

Sir Horace Plumely, Bart, (commonly called Wad- 
dles) Mr. Neil O'Brien 

Colonel Miles Grahame (the Soldier Man) 

Mr. J. R. Crawford 

Terrence McGrath (the Doctor) Mr. F. H Tyler 

Richard Terrence Miles Audaine (the Imp.) 

Mr. Arnold Daly 

Herbert C1or?ie. . , . . , Mr. Fred Tiden 

David rji^scH Mr. Bassett ivoe 

IIp'GiiiE Hex MONT. Mr. Ernest Lawford 

Wallis Brundalll Mr. Ivo Dawson 

Mrs. Ericson. Miss Ingram 

:F^yll;«:b; (fcei^ daughte/. Miss Maxine Elliott 

ELarA' GitYNEfeK' (known as the Firefly) 

Miss Constance Collier 

Budgie Culpepper 

Babette (Kara's Maid) 



WHEN WE WEEE TWENTY-ONE. 



ACT I. 



Scene. — Dick Carew's room in his fiat in Clement's 
Inn. A man's room. Old-fashioned, comfortable 
chairs, with the leather well-worn. On the r. side 
of the room a Mg fire-place with fender seat all round 
it. The wall is nearly entirely hook-cases. The 
hangings are darJc red. The over-mantel is old black 
oak, also the old-fashioned bureau, which is down l. 
against the wall. There is a deep, comfortable Ches- 
terfield sofa above the fire-place, and a comfortable 
arm-chair below it, facing up stage. There is a door 
down R. of the fire-place, and a door l. c. at back, 
I'^hich opens into the hall — showing the hall — hat- 
rdcks, coats, etc., and the hall door, which opens on to 
the staircase of the building. There is a large loin- 
dow opposite the fire-place with a very crooked blind. 
A card-table is set out between the window and the 
fire-place, a little l. of the centre, below it is a smaller 
table, with a half-empty, old-fashioned whiskey decan- 
ter, five glasses, and numerous syphons of soda-water 
— both on and under the table. Various ash-trays, 
pipes, and cigar-ends about — also packs of cards. The 
room has evidently just been the scene of a card 
party. The door is open that leads to the hall, and 
through it comes the sotind of men's voices and laugh- 
ter. A moment after the curtain rises, Mrs. Ericson 
comes in from the door, doivn r. She is a sweet- 
looking, fragile old lady. She gives a little ejacula- 
tion of dismay. 

Mrs. E. Oh, my dear — the smoke. Phyllis, dearie, 
come and help me to open the window. 

3 



4 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

(Phyllis enters after her mother, and is lilcewise a lit- 
tle dismayed at the disorder of the room.) 

Phyll. They are having a party, aren't they? Foo! 
the heat! 

Mrs. E. Dick would have a fire — and it's June! 

Phyll. (has helped to open the window and is now 
trying to straighten the blind) Dick says a " card- 
party " wouldn't be anything without a fire. What is 
the matter with this beastly old blind — it will keep 
crooked? 

Mrs. E. (nervously) My dear — there's something 
burning. 

Phyll. (turning excitedly) Oh, look about — look 
about, it's Dick's cigar end for a certainty. 

(The two women commence to hunt) 

Here it is — on the oak, of course. He is a careless old 
thing, isn't he? He'd be burnt down regularly if I 
wasn't here to look after him He dropped one into the 
drawing-room piano yesterday, and we didn't find it 
out for a quarter of an hour, and then we couldn't get at 
it, so we had to spill milk down to put it out, and that 
isn't the best thing for a piano. 

(The hall-door bell rings, and as Mrs. Ericson is close 
to it, she opens it and — ) 

Mrs, E. Oh, Mr. Corrie, it's you. 

Herbert, (a frank, cheerful youth) Hallo, Mrs. 
Ericson, Dick sent down to me about an hour ago, to 
know if I had any cards. I was out, but I got his 
message when I came in just now, and thought I'd bring 
'em up myself. How are you? (smiling at Phyllis) 
One pack's nearly new, the two others aren't quite, and, 
in fact, I don't think any of 'em are perfect. What does 
this sudden burst of dissipation mean? 

Phyll. (gravely) One of the Trinity has got a 
birthday. 

Herbert, (with due solemnity) Ohoh! Which one? 

Phyll. Sir Horace. The little fat one. 

Herbert. Is that the one they call "Waddles"? 

Phyll. Yes. 

Mrs. E. I do hope that little bed in the box-room 
will hold him. 

Phyll. Of course it will hold him, mother — he's not 
so very fat. He's "just comfortable." 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE 6 

Herbert. He's staying here? 

Phyll. Dick's putting him up for the night, other- 
wise he'd have had to go early to catch the last train, 
and as it's his birthday, of course that wouldn't have 
done at all. 

Herbert, (fanning himself) I say — you're awfully 
hot in here. 

Phyll. Dick would have a fire. 

Herbert. Where's the Imp? 

Phyll. Oh, the Imp's gone out to have a quiet even- 
ing of his own. He's too young to stand the shock of 
such a revel as this party. 

Herbert, (chuckles) H'm! It strikes me that the 
Imp isn't quite as young as he looks. Oh, I beg your 
pardon. Miss Ericson. 

Phyll. Not at all. 

Herbert. Somehow it's difficult to think of the Imp 
as an engaged man. 

Phyll. It is very difficult, isn't it? 

Herbert. He's a jolly lucky chap — oh, I beg pardon, 
I didn't mean that. 

Phyll. Oh, I hope you did, because I quite agree with 
you. 

Herbert. That's a spiffing dog-cart Dick's given him. 

Mrs. E. (turning round aghast) What? 

Phyll. Dog-cart! 

Herbert. Oh! Didn't you know — er — well, p'raps it 
was a hired one — only — well — he did rather lead me to 
suppose that he was its sole proprietor. 

(Sound of pushing "bacTc chairs comes mingled with the 
chatter from the adjoining room.) 

Hallo! I must get. 

Mrs. E. Stop and see Dick. 

Herbert. Not I — when four old veterans like that 
get together and have a birthday, they don't want any 
extraneous juveniles knocking about — give him the 
cards. I hope the packs are perfect, but I doubt it. 

Mrs. E. Oh, I don't think it'll matter one or two 
being gone, nothing ever seems to matter much to Dick. 

(Herbert laughs, and icith a cheery " Good-night " goes 
out, not closing the hall-door after him.) 

Phyll. (gravely) That's funny about Imp and the 
dog-cart. I wonder, does Dick know? 



6 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Mrs. E. I don't expect he knows half that young man 
is up to behind his back. 

Phyll. (gravely) Mother, you mustn't say disre- 
spectful things about the Imp, he's my future husband! 

Mrs. E. Yes, dear, I know he is — bother the boy! 
He's left the door open, (she goes to the outer door, her 
eye falls on something hy the mat) Goodness! {she 
stops and picks up a key) The latch-key — now who put 
that under the mat? (a pause) Are any of the ser- 
vants out at this hour? No, they're not. I saw them 
go to bed ages ago. 

Phyll. I put it there, mother. It's all right — oh, 
don't look amazed. The Imp asked me to — he's likely 
to be a little late and he's mislaid his own. 

Mrs. E. (puzzled) But he's gone to his aunt's at 

Phyll. (imth a little laugh) Oh, no, he hasn't. 

Mrs. E. But 

Phyll. Mother dear, don't be old-fashioned. The 
Imp isn't a child — he can go to a Music-hall if he likes. 
Another dirty old damp cigar, (looking at cigar) It's 
Dick's — he chews his ends. 

Mrs. E. But — Oh, Dick thicks he's gone to his aunt's, 
and it seems almost like de<!eiving him. 

Phyll. If the Imp deceives Dick — Dick's only got 
himself to blame. I think Dick makes himself very 
ridiculous about the Imp. I don't deceive Dick. I 
merely push a silly little latch-key under a very dirty 
mat, that's all. Mother dear, if anybody saw you glar- 
ing at me like that, they'd be bound to think I was a 
monstrosity out of a show. Smooth your face out, and 
come to bed, there's a dear. 

Mrs. E. Phyllis, I really don't believe I shall ever be 
able to understand you. 

Phyll. That's because of the difference in our ages 
— you're so very young, and I'm so very old. 

Mrs. E. (feebly) Why are you? 

Phyll. (with a laugh) Because, if I'm going to be 
married to the Imp, I shall need to know a great deal. 

Mrs. E. It's very upsetting. 

Phyll. What is? 

Mrs. E. Oh, everything. I'm sometimes tempted to 
think — you won't marry him at all. 

Phyll. I will. I said I would, and everybody was 
pleased, and so I suppose I was — fearfully — pleased. 
After all, nothing matters as long as other people are 
pleased, does it? 

Mrs. E. It's very nice to please others, if it doesn't 
worry one. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. Y 

Phyll. Well, now could it worry one to bs married 
to such an ideal husband as the Imp? 

Mrs. E. I suppose not. 

Phyll. (suddenly) Come along, mother dear, they're 
coming. We don't want to be convicted of keeping 
them tidy. 

(She puts her arm round her mother and hurries her 
off. The door is flung open, and amid a general bab- 
ble, Waddles and the Soldiee-Man stalk in arm-in-arm. 
The Soldier-Man is smoking a large cigar and Wad- 
dles is carrying a drink. Waddles, otherwise knoion 
as Sir Horace Plumely, is a little, round, cherubic 
man of about 45. The Soldier-Man, otheriuise known 
as Colonel Miles Grahame, is very tall — very mili- 
tary, bronzed and handsome, a suspicion of grey in 
his hair.) 

Waddles, (with a sigh of content) Oh, good gra- 
cious me — we're having a splendid evening. 

S. Man. It's a very impressive sight to watch you 
over a dish of plover's eggs. Waddles. 

Waddles. Can't resist 'em — never could — there's 
something in their shape that appeals to me. 

(The Doctor, a well set up, genial Irishman of about 
five and forty, enters ivith a small spirit-lamp in his 
hand — lighting his cigar and speaking through the 
puffs.) 

Doctor. Will ye believe it, boys — wid all my flow of 
eloquence, I can't persuade Master Dick that it's his 
duty to marry the old lady. What's to be done about 
it at all— at all? 

(Dick enters laden with cigars and cigarette boxes.) 

Dick. Lazy demons. Leave me to carry everything, 
as usual. 

Waddles. You're the host — I'm the guest of honour — 
it's your duty, all of you, to wait on me. Soldier-Man, 
fetch me more plover's egggs. 

S. Man. Daren't; you'd burst, and I'd be called to the 
inquest. 

Dick. Oh, dear, oh, dear, I haven't laughed as much 
for years as I have this evening. 

Doctor. If you'd only propose to the old lady 

Dick. Shut up, or I'll — (throtos cushion at him) 



8 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

S. Man. (gravely) Really, ye know, this fire's a 
damn nuisance. 

Doctor. It is that. Couldn't ye put it out somehow, 
Dick? 

Dick, (ruefully staring at it) It was such a devil of 
a job to put it in. 

Waddles, (fanning himself) I must own, I really 
have felt it a little oppressive once or twice. 

Dick, (hopefully) I vote we don't notice it; it'll be 
all right then. 

S. Man. Theoretically it may be all right — but prac- 
tically — phew! 

Dick. Let's take our coats off. (then with a chuckle 
to the Soldiee-Man) Do you remember the night we 
took our coats off in Princes' Street, Edinburgh? 

S. Man. Rather. By Gad, what a pasting you gave 
the brute, Dickie! 

Doctor, (with a note of solemn admiration in his 
voice) Ah — it's a beautiful fighter ye were in those 
days, Masther Dick. 

(Dick chuckles.) 

Waddles, (sparring at the Doctor) I was a bit use- 
ful if I was pushed, wasn't I^ Miles? 

Doctor. Ye were so — but, thank the Lord — ye weren't 
often pushed. 

Waddles. D'ye remember the day that by my su- 
perior agility and address I compelled you to apologise 
on one knee for winking at my best girl behind my 
back? 

Doctor. I have never yet managed to remember what 
never happened. 

'Dick. Come, boys. The cards are getting cold. 

Waddles, (rising quickly and going to table) That's 
right! What I say is — is this a card-party, or is it 
isn't? 

Doctor. Come along, then. 

Waddles. My luck must turn. I've lost pounds 
and pounds. 

S. Man. You don't look it, Waddles. 

Dick. Leave my little friend's figure alone — who in- 
sults him, insults me — Hello! (then turning with a 
chuckle to Waddles) D'ye remember that night in the 
Rue Mont Pamane, we upset the claret over one pack 
of cards — and then sent down to the room under- 
neath 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 9 

Waddles, (chuckling) I know, the room with the 
red blinds. 

S. Man. Ha! Always drawn. 

Dick. Yes — and — d'ye remember the message that 
came back — and then we went down ourselves — we 
three. 

Waddles. Me first. 

Dick. Yes, and I was next, and slipped over those 
infernal tins. 

S. Man. Gads, yes, I remember. 

Dick. And how all the giggling stopped dead when 
we opened the door. 

S. Man. By George, yes! 

(And all the men sit hack, their faces teaming with 
the memories of that night so long ago. There is a 
pause.) 

Waddles, (breaks it hy murmuring with his eyes 
half closed and a beaming smile on his plump little Jace) 
One of 'em — the fair one — had her hair all down. I re- 
member. 

(Another pause.) 

S. Man. (gravely) Ah! Soft hair it was too, very 
soft and long — very — very long. 

Waddles, (sitting up quickly) Yes, I remember 
now — you did me out of a nice thing that night with 
your lanky legs and your bony shoulders. I'm not sure 
it's diplomacy for a man of my build to be seen about 
by ladies with a man of yours. 

S. Man. You wern't your present magnificent propor- 
tions then, Waddles — you were a slim little freckled, im- 
pudent — scaramouch. 

Waddles. I was — I was — oh, I know I was. (and 
he beams again with renewed delight) 

Dick. Oh, those days — those nights. What times we 
used to have. 

Waddles. And will again. 

Doctor. 

Dick. 

S. Man. 
(together) Rather — one of these fine days. 

Waddles, (after a pause) I don't think I was ever 
very, was I? 

Dick. Well, I don't know about very freckled, was 
he, Miles? 



10 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Doctor. Well, lie was freckled, anyhow. 

Waddles. I don't care if I was. {he looks cheer- 
fully at the circle round the table — the Soldier-Man has 
begun to deal) Oh dear, oh dear. We're all just as 
young as we were then. 

(There is a pause, the three men look up with a wry 
face. ) 

Dick. Just as young. 

S. Man. 

Doctor. 
(together) Ahem — just. 

Waddles, (patting his own bald spot apprehensively) 
Well!! almost — anyhow. I fear I'm beginning to lose a 
little control over my figure, but in some respects I'm 
sure we're younger, aren't we, Dickie? 

Dick. Much younger. Misdeal again. Miles. 

Doctor. That's the third time. It's the lobster's 
flown to your head, my poor boy. 

S. Man. (smiling) Ah, the young 'uns of to-day 
don't know how to enjoy life as we knew how to enjoy 
it. They're all so damned calculatory. 

Dick. No such word. 

5S. Man. You know what I mean. We, Dickie, you 
and I, never stopped in the old days to turn things over 
in our minds and grow grey over counting the chances 
of what would or wouldn't happen. Vv'^e went slap at 
everything, like the healthy young devils we were. 

Waddles. Are. 

All. Are, of course. 

S. Man. And if we got our ears boxed — damme — it 
did us good — and — er — if we didn't get our ears boxed — 
well 

Dick, (cheerfully, speaking for him) Damme, that 
did us good, too. 

General Chorus, (cheerfully) So it did, of course 
it did. 

Doctor. Ah, we are a merry Trinity. 

Waddles, (quickly) Quadrity! Don't forget me, 
if you please. 

S. Man. Ah, Waddy, you're not an original member 
— you grew on to it later. 

Dick. You did — you plump little parasite. 

Doctor. It was three years later you threw in your- 
self on us, Waddy dear. 

Waddles, (gloomy) I know it was. But oh, after 
all these years don't you think it would be more gen- 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. H 

tlemanly of you three to forget your blessed Trinity, and 
start friends level? 

S. Man. Damme! I've mis-dealt again. 

Doctor. It must be the lobster — it couldn't be the 
wine. 

Dick. Here, I'll have a go this time. 

S. Man. {leaning hack in his chair and stretching 
his long legs) Remember that night in Boulogne when 
we 

Dick, (gravel) Ought we to discuss that before 
Waddles — he's very young. 

Doctor. And very immature. 

Waddles. It is my birthday. I won't keep on being 
got at, and my glass has been empty for ages. 

Dick, (rising quickly) My dear Waddy, I'm aw- 
fully sorry. I left the drinks in the dining room. You 
deal on where I left off — oh — where did I leave off — 
never mind, go on where I did. I don't know, a card 
or two more or less won't make much difference at 
this time of night. 

Doctor, (counting the cards) Count your cards, 
boys. 

(They do so. Then the Doctor folds his hands across 
his middle and lets his roving eyes rest on a photo- 
graph of Phyllis that hangs on the wall.) 

(placidly) It's a wonderful invention, this photography 
— sure that's a speaking likeness of the child. 

(The other two, adsorbed in counting, merely grunt.) 

She's a beautiful gyurl! 

S. Man. She is. 

Waddles. Beautiful indeed. 

Doctor. Why did none of us have the chance of 
meeting such an angel when we were the Imp's age? 

S. Man. Because we'd all have got married, and then 
none of us would have been here to-night. 

Waddles, (having counted) Seven. 

S. Man. And seven here. The Imp's a lucky little 
chap. 

Waddles. He is so — no, it's eight I have. 

Doctor. Be — devil the cyards. I can't count for 
thinking. 

Waddles. It's my belief the Imp will have to let 
off a lot of steam before he's fit to run in double har- 
ness. 



12 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

{The two others give grunts of mutual acquiescence. 
Then there is a pause, broken "by — ) 

All. I wish — {they stop and each looTcs at the other) 
Doctor. What? 

(Waddles and the Soldier-Man pick up their cards a 
little sheepishly.) 

S. Man. Nothing. 

Doctor, {looking at them both, quizzically) It's the 
same case wid all of us, I'm thinking. 

Waddles. What's that? 

S. Man. I fail to follow. 

Doctor, {gravely) Why, all of us u'd gladly lay 
down in the mud, and let Miss Phylley dance herself 
thro' life on our bedabbled corpses. 

Waddles, {loftily) Not at all — not at all. 

S. Man. Not I. 

Doctor, {shaking his head) Ye're fooling your- 
selves, the facts is as I say. Howld yer whist. Here 
he comes and the whiskey wine. 

(Dick enters with a bottle from Tantalus.) 

Dick. It's nearly empty. 

Doctor. Nearly empty, it is that an' more. Never 
mind — when it's finished, we can all go and forage in 
the barrel. Here are your cards, my son. 

Dick, {sitting down and picking up his cards) 
Miles, how the dickens do you keep so tidy? You don't 
even get tobacco ash on your trousers {and he brushes 
himself vigorously with his hands) 

S. Man. It's constitutional. 

Doctor, {looking at his cards) 1 propose. 

Waddles, {looking at his hand) I pass. 

Dick. Half a minute. I haven't looked at my hand. 
I wish to goodness the Imp were here. I find his ad- 
vice at cards most invaluable. 

Doctor. His father was a good card player. 

Dick. Card playing's a gift, {then looking round at 
the other players) What's happened? 

S. Man. Proposal over there. 

Dick, {as he laboriously arranges and examines his 
cards) Jolly tactful of him to go out to-night, so that 
we four should be all to ourselves, wasn't it? 

Waddles. Very — we're waiting for you — what do 
you do? 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 13 

Dick. Oh, is it me to shout? Oh, I pass — no, I don't 
— I'll accept you, Doctor. 

Waddles. Come on, we'll down 'em. My lead. 

Dick. Hallo, I've only got twelve cards, {he counts 
them out) 

S. Man. It's an imperfect pack — it must be. 

Dick. Try another, and deal again. 

S. Man. I'm a bit sick of dealing, somebody else have 
a go. 

Doctor, (cheerfully) I'll do it. (and he deals 
while the others watch him) 

S. Man. I say, old man — I hear you didn't take that 
fishing after all. 

Dick. No. 

S. Man. Why the dickens didn't you — it's quite the 
best. 

Dick. I daresay, but I came to the conclusion that I 
couldn't afford it. 

S. Man. Rubbish! 

Dick. It's fact. 

S. Man. Then I expect you let the Imp run away 
with all the spare cash, eh. Master Dick? 

(Dick smiles.) 

Dick. He runs away with a good deal, bless him. 

DocTOE. It's a mistake. 

Dick. What is? 

Waddles. You spoil him. 

Dick. I don't. 

Doctor, (interposing quickly) Ah, now do let's drop 
the Imp, and get on with our game. We're the Imps to- 
night, not 21, any man Jack of us. 

(The others pay no attention to him, and the Soldier- 
Man goes on gravely.) 

S. Man. I think, Dick, if you'll allow me to say so, 
you're wrong in letting him run away with the idea 
that his income is unlimited. 

Dick. He's welcome to all I've got — and he knows it. 

Waddles. And doesn't scruple to make use of his 
knowledge, I'm thinking. 

S. Man. That's all very well, old man — but I don't 
think you've got more than enough for yourself. 

Dick. Oh, I want very little. 

Waddles. Why have you given up your cob, Dickie? 

Dick. (Shoving his fingers through his hair) Oh, I 
I dunno. 



14: WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

S. Man. You didn't shoot last year. How was that? 

Dick. Er — I dunno. 

Waddles. I do; you think the money is more profita- 
ble squandered on the boy. 

Dick. Well, p'raps I do. 

S. Man. Rot. 

Doctor. Not at all. 

Waddles. You spoil him. 

S. Man. Does he know that you're giving up all the 
fun you used to get out of life, that he may enjoy him- 
self more than's good for him? 

Dick. He doesn't, because I'm not. 

Doctor. You let him have every mortal thing he 
wants. 

Dick. I don't. 

Waddles. If he cried for the moon you'd make an 
effort to get it for him. 

Dick. So would all of you. 

Waddles. It can't be a good training. 

Doctor. No, indeed it can't. 

Dick. Look here, it's all very well to round on me, 
but — but, under the circumstances, I don't think I've 
turned the boy out badly. 

(Waddles shakes his head and groans.) 

I think he's a splendid fellow, if you ask me. 

S. Man. So do I — that's not quite the point. 

Dick. Of course, I may have gone wrong in one or 
two little things 

Doctor. Ye've gone wrong on more than one or two 
little things to my certain knowledge. 

Dick. Still I've done my best to turn him out all right. 
Suppose you three chaps have a go at him now. Every 
little helps, and I'm jolly sure that out of our united 
experiences we ought to be able to teach him a thing 
or two. 

Waddles, (beamingly) I'm sure any one of us 
could instruct him how to have a high old time. 

Dick, (shortly) That's not what I mean. 

Doctor. Shut up, Waddles, you're a rake. 

(Waddles chortles with conscious pride.) 

S. Man. Now we are on this subject, I should like 
to know how he does really stand — financially, I mean. 

Dick, (a little embarrassed) Oh, he's all right that 
way. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 15 

Doctor. Let's see, how auld was he when he became 
our property? 

Dick. Two. 

S. Man. And from then till now 

Waddles. Nineteen years. 

S. Man. He has been your old man of the sea — that is 
to say — he has lived with you? 

(Dick nods.) 

Doctor. And we've each contributed a paltry £25 per 
annum for the little beggar's maintenance. 

Waddles. And what with tutors for this and tutors 
for that and sending him to Harrow and buying him 
books and cricket bats, I don't think that there can be 
much margin on that hundred a year. 

S. Man. Dickie, as co-guardians with you of that boy 
— we demand to know — vv-Iiat is his financial position? 

Dick. Well, as a matter fact, he's all right. That — 
er — £100 a year that we've arranged to let him have — I — 
er — well, as a matter of fact, I've made that a sort of 
a sinking fund for him — I — I've never touched that. 
It's been left to accumulate and — er — well, it's about 
£3000 now. 

Waddles, (hangs the table) I thought as much. 

Doctor. So did I. 

S. Man. Then you have paid for his entire bringing 
up — ever since he's belonged to us? 

Dick. It's been all right. I didn't want the money 
for myself, and I thought our allowances would be very 
handy for him in a lump sum when he came of age. 

S. Man. You've done more than was necessary. 

Waddles. Much more than he had any right to ex- 
pect. 

Dick, {rising quietly) I don't think so, any one of 
you in my place would have done just the same. 

(He rises and goes to his desk.) 

He is Charlie's boy — (a silence falls on the men) you 
remember when old Charlie came and told the four of 
us he meant to be married. 

Waddles. And what a silly ass sort of thing we 
thought it was then. 

Doctor, (shaking his head sadly) Oh, dear old 
Charlie — one of the best. 

Dick, (sadly) One of the best. 



16 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

(Another pause — the men's minds drift dack into the 
past.) 

That wedding day. 

Waddles. One of my boots was too tight. 

S. Man. I was best man. 

Waddles. Only because ye looked most showy walk- 
ing up the aisle. 

Dick. Then two years afterwards the coming of the 
Imp, and the passing away of Mrs. Charlie. Poor old 
chap, how lonely and desolate it seemed to leave him. 
Do you remember how we used to watch him from our 
windows walking up and down that field behind the 
stables day in, day out, with the Imp huddled up in his 
arms? 

Doctor. He was hard hit — poor old son. 

Waddles. He was that. 

S. Man. Broke him up. 

Dick. He'd have got out of it, had it not been for his 
dread of leaving the Imp alone. Do you remember this 
— (he goes to the desk and takes out a worn letter and 
reads) " Im going, old man — and somehow I don't 
much care. I've never given much thought to the other 
side — but anyhow she's there. Dick, I want to speak of 
my boy. I'm leaving him. I'm helpless. I'm leaving 
him alone, there is only you, you and the Trinity, boys 
look after my boy when I'm gone. Make a man of him, 
make him what you know he ought to be. Make the 
Trinity proud of him, for their old Charlie's sake, let 
him step into my place with you all, let him be one of 
us. I'm leaving him so terribly alone. Oh, for God's 
sake, Dick, be Father— Mother— be all to him." (Dick 
stops and refolds the letter) And— and— I've done it, 
boys. I've been father and mother and — and, oh, I've 
been a damn fool, I daresay— but I've done my best. 
(then with a sudden outburst) Hang it all, so have 
you, you've all made fools of yourselves about him at 
one time or another. You— (7ie points a scornful finger 
at the Soldter-Man) You've swaggered down Piccadilly 
with him sittting on your shoulders rubbing your top 
hat the wrong way. I was with you and saw even the 
cabmen laughing, (then he turns fiercely on Waddles) 
You— you were caught in a four-wheeler in Pall Mall 
with a rocking horse on top, a most invidious position 
for an unmarried man. (they all laugh) You laugh 
at me. Very well— laugh away. I'm a hen with one 
chicken, I daresay, and a hen with one chicken I'll be to 
the end of the chapter, but I mean that chicken to be a 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 17 

bally swan before I go and tell Charlie how we've reared 
his boy. 

(And very excited he goes across to the bureau and re- 
places the letter, shutting the drawer with a snap.) 

Doctor. Well, well, well — he's a fine ould youngster — 
but all this has given me the doldrums, Dickie, me son 
— excursh into the larder, and trot out another jug of 
whiskey wine. 

Dick. I — I — I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to get 
so serious. 

Waddles. Let's get on with our game; there won't be 
time for me to get that £7 back if we don't. 

Dick. Come along, Waddy, — you shall have it, if I 
have to revoke to give it you — wait till I get the whiskey, 
where the devil are the matches. 

Waddles. Hurry up. 

S. Man. You chaps drink too much. Waddles, how 
is it you (^n not keep your waistcoat buttoned? 

WADDLEt. Oh, do leave my wardrobe alone. 

(Dick retires to the pantry, laughing.) 

S. Man. There never was a man so completely de- 
voted to any one as Dick is to that boy. 

Waddles. Talk of love of women. 

DocTOB. If anything happened to him he's — what's 
that? 

(A pause, they all listen.) 

S. Man. Some one at the front door. 

{Another pause. The door is heard to open and close 
softly, then another pause, then the room door opens 
softly and the Imp peers in — he is surprised at the 
sight of the Trinity, hut smiles at them a little va- 
santly. ) ^ 

Imp. Hullo! 

(The Trinity glare at him in dismay.) 

S. Man. Good God! 

Waddles. Imp, where have you been? 
Imp. (with a chuckle) Sh — 1. Spen'in' the evenin' 
with my fiancee. 



18 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Doctor, (with a shout) What! 

S. Man. You young idiot, where in thunder have you 
been? 

Imp. Sh — 1 — it's a secret — doncher tell Dick. 

Waddles. Phyllis. 

Imp. Sir Horace, I dinnot refer to Phyllis. Phyllis' 
sweet girl — but she's not my fiancee. Don't you tell 
Dick I sezzo, I'm keepin' my fiancee back for a bit. 
I'll s'prize you all with her some day. Now if I could 
get to bed. They made me drink heaps of things all 
mixed up together to see if I was a man now that's 
over. I shewed 'em I was a man — and so — now — now 
do you think you could put me to bed, Sir 'Grace? 

(Dick heard oft.) 

S. Man. Here's Dick — keep him out. I'll get the 
young beggar to bed. 

Waddles. Oh, Dick must never know. 

Doctor. Quick! Man — quick! He must know he's 
come home. 

S. Man. Yes, but not how he's come home. 

Imp. Oh, I'm so awfully unwell — don' mention this 
111' matter to Dick. 

Doctor. He's coming. 

S. Man. Lock the door. 

(He grahs the bewildered Imp and rushes oft with him, 
while Waddles goes to intercept Dick. He shuts the 
door and hunts for the key.) 

Waddles. There's no key. 

S. Man. Keep him out for a minute anyhow. 

(He and Doctor exit with Imp.) 

Dick, (pushing against door) Hullo, what's against 
the door? (a pause) Open, one of you chaps— my 
hands are full. 

Waddles. Ye can't come in. 

DiCH. What do ye mean? 

Waddles. I won't let ye in till ye swear that for a 
whole year ye won't make a single rude remark about 
the gradual disappearance of the hair on the top of my 
head. 

Dick. All right. I swear. 

Waddles, (looking round in agony for the others) 
Holy powers, I wonder will they be long. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 19 

Dick. Take your fat little carcas out of the way. 
Waddles, 

Waddles. What's that? Fat little carcas — I think 
you said. 

Dick. Fat little carcas — fat head! Open the door. 

Waddles. Withdraw your " fat little carcas " and I 
will move. Apologise — apologise! 

Dick. Oh, I apologise. Miles, take the little beggar 
away. 

(A crash of glass from outside the door.) 

Oh, damn! 

Waddles. What's that? 

Dick. You blithering idiot, you've made me drop the 
whiskey. 

Waddles. Oh, and here's a blessed stream trickling 
under the door. 

Dick. Lap it up — I'm soaked to the skin. 

Waddles. Oh, think of the waste of whiskey. Go, 
get some more, there's a pet lamb. 

(Dick retires, grumbling, as the Doctor and Soldier- 
Man re-enter.) 

Waddles, (excitedly) I kept him out — is he 

Doctor. Yes, he's in bed — Phew — what the dickens 
are we to do now at all — at all. 

S. Man. Dick mustn't see him till the morning. 

Waddles. Don't let him know he's home — he doesn't 
expect him to-night — so, it'll be all right. 

Doctor. What the devil did he mean about his 
" fiancee." 

Waddles. Who can she be? 

S. Man. a bar-maid for a sovereign. 

Waddles. What'll Dick say? 

S. Man. Nothing — if he's wise. Eh! Here he comes. 

(Dick enters with the whiskey in a jug and the broken 
Tantalus bottle.) 

Dick. Here I am — look at me — thanks to you luna- 
tics, I'm smelling like a preambulating public house. 

Doctor. Good gracious — what's up wid you? 

Dick. What do you mean by letting him play such 
tricks? You're old enough to know better — so you are, 
Miles — just look at the state of my trousers. 

Doctor. Well — well. Maybe it's a blessing in dis- 



20 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

guise. What wid whiskey inside and out, the prospects 
of the evening are improving. 

Waddles. It serves you right; how dare you be 
serious on my forty-seventh birthday? 

S. Man. Forty-seventh nonsense! Twenty-first — 
time enough to be forty-seven to-morrow morning. 
Here's fortune to us boys! Dickie, what's that thing of 
old Thackeray's you used to spout under the influence 
of liquor? 

Waddles, (clapping his hands) " In the brave days 
when I was twenty-one." 

S. Man. That's it. 

Doctor. Sure, I've not heard it for years. 

Dick. Here's your drink, Waddles! Good gad, I 
feel as if I was at school again. How did the old thing 
go? 

(And he recites the poem, the three fellows waving 
their glasses and chiming in cheerily with the re- 
frain. ) 

With pensive eyes the little room I view 
Where in my youth I weathered it so long 
With a wild mistress, a staunch friend or two. 
And a light heart, still bursting into song. 
Making a mock of Life and all its cares 
Rich in the glory of my rising sun. 
Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, 
In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 

To dream long dreams of beauty, love, and power, 
From founts of hope that never will out-run, 
To drain all life's quintessence in an hour, 
Give me the days when I was twenty-one. 

(And as he finishes he lifts his glass,) 

A toast, boys, a toast — all standing! 

(They all rise.) 

Good luck and long life to the Trinity. 
Waddles, (fiercely) Quadrity! 
Omnes. (raising glasses) Quadrity! 

(They drink; as they are doing so, the door softly opens 
and Phyllis looks in, smiling.) 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 21 

Phyll. (softly) Good-night! 

(All the men wheel round towards her and echo.) 

Omnes. Good-night! 

(There is a slight pause, no one moves and she kisses 
her hand; they all gravely kiss theirs to her, and she 
softly closes the door and disappears — there is an- 
other pause, and a half sigh escapes from all the men 
as they stand looking at the door.) 

Dick, (tenderly) Bless her. (then, ivith a change 
of tone) Come along. I'm sure it's my turn to deal. 

(They all go hack to the card tal)le and sit down as the) 
CURTAIN FALLS. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 



ACT II. 

The same scene. Next morning. 

(Dick and Phyllis and Mrs. Ericson and Waddles just 
finishing breakfact.) 

Dick, (passing his cup to Phyllis) You're a terri- 
ble chap for late hours, Waddles. 

Sir H, Only on my birthday. 

Dick. What's the matter with the Imp, he's not 
down yet? 

Phyll. This is your third cup, Dick. 

Dick. I always require four after a night with Wad- 
dles—don't I, Waddles? 

(Sir H., half turied in his tea-cup, mum'bles an indis- 
tinct reply.) 

Mrs. E. I hope that little bed didn't inconvenience 
you, Sir Horace. 

Sir H. Oh, not a bit. I only rolled out once. 

Mrs. E. Oh, Sir Horace, I'm so grieved. 

Dick. Not at all — his tendency to roll is not due to 
the size of the bed, is it Waddles? 

{The Imp enters, a little heavy-eyed, but with an affecta- 
tion of cheerfulness.) 

Imp. Morning — morning, every one. 

Dich. Hullo, boy. 

Others. Good morning. Imp. 

Imp. I'm jolly late — so sorry. I was shaving. 

Sir H. (gravely enquiring) I beg pardon? 

Imp. (turning to him) Shaving — Sir Horace! 

Sir H. (as if much impressed) Oh — I see — shaving 
• — yes, of course, very wise — very wise. 

Mrs. E. (giving him a plate) I'm afraid the bacon 
is quite cold, dear. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 23 

Imp. (with a slight shudder) Bacon — I really don't 
think I can this morning. 

(Waddles chuckles.) 

Is there any toast left? 

(Phyllis rings the hell.) 

Thanks, old girl. 

Dick. You weren't at a birthday, Impy — you ought 
to be able to take your food. 

Sir H. I have often found that an evening spent in 
peaceful, homely talk produces a disinclination for rich 
food in the morning. I observe my theory proved in 
your case this morning, Master Richard. 

Imp. (with a nervous laugh) Do you? Could I 
have some more hot water? 

(Phyllis runs and rings.) 

Thanks, old girl. 

(Maid enters.) 

Some more toast and hot water, Dodd. 

Dick. You bolted off to bed very mysteriously last 
night. 

Sir H. Richard did as his elders bid him, like a good 
boy — didn't you, Richard? 

Imp. Yes. 

Sir H. Richard was most desirous to say good-night 
to you, Dick — but, on our promising that you would 
tuck him up when he was safely in bed — he consented 
to retire without your good-night kiss. 

Dick. Shut up. Waddles. Phyllis, it's Friday — if you 
let me have your accounts and my cheque book, I'll 
write one out. I shan't be a minute. Waddles, old man; 
you're not going till the three-thirty, are you? 

Sir H. (who has never taken his eyes off the Imp, 
much to the Imp's discomfort) No! Richard, don't 
you think a Bromo Seltzer would do you good? 

Dick. Eh? 

Sir H. He doesn't feel well — do you, Richard? 

Imp. (quickly, darting a furious glance at Sir H.) 
Quite well, thank you. 

Sir H. Dick, I think he's sickening for something. 
Won't somebody look at his tongue? 



24 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Dick, (cheerily) Anything wrong, Imp? 

Imp. (laughing) Of course not, Dick. It's Sir 
Horace's joke, that's all. Wish they'd bring that toast. 

Phyll. They had to make it, you know — you're so 
late, I expect the fire was just made up. 

Dick, (a^ door) Here's his toast. No, it's his hot 
water. I shan't be a moment, old man. 
(Dick goes out as the Maid enters with water jug. 

Mrs. Ericson goes to small work tahle. Sir H. ap- 
pears absorbed in the morning paper.) 

Sib H. (to himself) Sh! Dear — dear — dear! 

Mrs. E. What's that? 

Sir H. Sad — sad case! Poor young fellow! 

Phyll. (lightly) What happened? 

Sir H. Oh, sad case. This young fellow, it appears — 
nice young fellow — sweet nature and all that — plenty 
of loving friends — happy home and all that. But weak 
— very weak — falls into bad hands — sits up late — drinks 
heaps of things all mixed up to prove that he was a 
man — what's the result? Proves he's only a young fool 
— and next morning at breakfast he's seized with a 
violent 

(The Imp chokes into his tea-cup — and Phyllis and 
Sib H. rise hurriedly to avoid damage.) 

Sir H. (waving the paper at him) Damme, Sir — 
pull yourself together or you'll choke. 

Phyll. Well, Imp, as you don't seem to be eating 
any breakfast, I'll go and get the accounts for Dick. 

Imp. (through his choke) Cut along. 

Mrs. E. Did you change your vest, this morning? 

Sir H. (looking up, then turning fiercely to the 
Imp) Do you hear, sir — did you change your vest 
this morning? 

Imp. Hang it all — yes, I suppose so. 

Mrs. E. (almost to herself) I'd better see those 
new ones must be marked — (she gathers up her work 
and hurries out) 

(Pause. Sir H. glares at the Imp a moment, then re- 
turns with a grunt to his paper. The Imp rises and 
lights a cigarette.) 

Sib H. (not looking up) That's mere bravado — you 
can't enjoy your cigarette this morning. 

Imp. (after a pause, chucks it into the grate) 1 
can't. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 25 

(Sir H. grunts.) 

Imp. (with Ms back to Sir H. and his foot on the 
fender, stares into the empty grate) I say 

(Sir H., not moving, grunts again.) 

It — it — was jolly good of you chaps not to tell Dick. 

Sir H. (shortly) Don't call me a chap, boy. 

Imp. I beg your pardon. 

Sir H. And Colonel Grahame would be exceedingly 
annoyed if he heard himself described so familiarly by a 
boy of your age. 

Imp. He's too good a sort to mind. 

Sir H. He's no such thing. 

Imp. You needn't run him down — you know he's a 
friend of Dick's. 

Sir H. Run him down! God bless my soul. How 
dare you! 

Imp. He's a good sort, whatever you may say. 

Sir H. Whatever I — good gracious — are you aware 
that you're a young scamp? 

Imp. I am not 

(He lights another cigarette.) 

Sir H. You'll be sick, sir — throw it away. The 
Colonel has often expressed to me the deep regret with 
which he has noticed the growing disrespect that the 
young men of to-day have for their elders. 

Imp. (quietly) I don't think any one would have 
occasion to say that if all our elders were like you 
four chaps. 

(A pause.) 

Sir H. (completely mollified) Give me one of your 
cigarettes. 

(The Imp hands him his case.) 

Now, then, what's all this about this woman? 

Imp. (innocently) What woman? 

Sir H. (with scorn) Your disreputable fiancee. 

Imp. (with an affectation of surprise) Phyllis? 

Sir H. (jumping out of his chair) How dare you, 
sir? 

Imp. Isn't Phyllis my fiancee? 



26 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Sib H. She is, sir. 

Imp. Then, what do you mean by calling her disrep- 
utable? I don't think it's right to speak of your friends 
behind their backs in the way you do. 

Sir H. I do not. 

Imp. You said the Colonel wasn't a good sort. 

Sir H. No such thing. 

Imp. And now you tell me Phyllis is disreputable. 

Sir H. How dare you? 

Imp. I shall have to ask you to prove your state- 
ment. 

Sir H. I meant the woman you're keeping back — the 
one you're going to surprise us with. Tell me all about 
her. 

Imp. {gravely) Really, Sir Horace — gentlemen do 
not discuss their little affaires de coeur with each other 
after breakfast — not good form. 

Sir H. Good form be damned — how dare you? 

Imp. Dick has always begged me to endeavour to dis- 
courage bad language among my friends — would you 
mind trying to check your tendency? You'll find it will 
get quite a hold on you, if you don't watch yourself. 
Even I have had to be careful. 

Sir H. You're an impertinent young jackanapes. 

Imp. (slowly) No, I'm not — {there is a long pause) 
I'm awfully miserable, that's all. 

Sir H. (insinuatingly) Poor old Imp — (he goes to 
the boy and puts his hand on his shoulder) What's her 
name? 

Imp. Nothing of the sort. 

Sir H. Don't you think you'd better tell Dick all 
about it? 

Imp. Not yet. 

Sir H. (very quietly) Are you behaving quite hon- 
orably towards Phyllis? 

(A pause.) 

You had too much liquor last night, you've got a head 
on you. Come along, sir — we'll walk briskly down to 
my club, have a Brandy and Soda, and chat the whole 
thing over like men. 

Imp. (languidly) I don't mind the Brandy and 
Soda — but, you'll have to tackle the talk. 

Sir H. (handing him clothes brush) We'll see about 
that. Kindly brush me. 

(The Imp does as he is told.) 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY ONE. 27 

And don't you ever allow yourself to fall into Dick's 
never sufficiently to be regretted notion that a peck or 
two of dust on a man's frock coat is a matter of minor 
importance. I was very fond of a dear dirty fellow of 
that sort once — but he came to no good — the dust was too 
heavy on him, it weighed him down. P'raps the way 
he whiskeyed and watered it made it a little heavier. 
Ready? 

Imp. Yes. 

Sir. H. Trot along, then, there's a good boy — we'll be 
back before lunch anyhow. 

(The two of them turn to go out; Sir H. takes the Imp's 
arin affectionately. As they do so, Dick and Phyllis 
enter.) 

Dick. Sorry I was so long, but the Chancellor of the 
Exchequer was very complicated this morning. 

Phyllis. I wasn't a bit — it's only one or two places 
in the adding up that I got wrong. 

Dick. How the Imp and I ever paid for a single meal 
before you and your mother came and took us in hand, 
beats me. Going out, Waddles? 

Sir H. Richard and I were going for a short consti- 
tutional to the club. I want to see if there are any let- 
ters; we shan't be more than twenty minutes at the 
outside. 

Dick. The Doctor and the Soldier-Man are to be 
round here about 12:30. 

Sir H. I know — come, Richard. 

(Exit as before.) 

Dick, (sitting down, resignedly) Well, I'm ready to 
hear the rest now. 

Phyll. It's no good making a joke of it — you know 
it's true. 

Dick. Well, say it is. I'm living beyond my means. 

Phyll. No, you're not — we're living beyond your 
mea ns — look at the money you squander on me — look at 
the money you squander on mother — look at the money 
you squander on the Imp — look at his clothes, look at 
my clothes — then look at your own old things, it's per- 
fectly disgraceful — and then. Colonel Grahame tells me 
you used to have a little shooting in Scotland, and since 
you've supported us you've had to give it up — so with 
your horse and everything else — it's all for other people 
—never anything for yourself. 



28 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Dick. That's where you're all wrong — it's all for 
myself. I'm very fond of your mother. I love the 
Imp — and — I (a pause; he looks up and meets her eye) 
have the greatest respect for you — so, when I see those 
that I'm fond of, those I love, and those I respect, all 
happy and contented, I puff myself up with righteous 
pride and wouldn't change places with the Emperor of 
Germany. 

Phyll. Dick why do you respect me? 

Dick, (bluntly) I don't know. 

Phyll. It's very unkind of you, I consider. Is it 
because I owe everything in the world to you? 

Dick. Good Lord, no! 

Phyll. Is it because I'm such a good adder up? 

Dick. P'raps! 

Phyll. Or is it because the Imp has graciously con- 
sented to make me his wife? 

Dick. Why do you put it that way? 

Phyll. Isn't that the proper way tc speak of his 
omnipotence? I'm the sort of woman who loves to bow 
down before her husband and beg him to put his heel 
upon her neck. 

Dick, (a little puzzled) Are you really? 

Phyll. And the Imp is to be my husband, and I long 
for him to show his power and grind me beneath an 
iron heel of authority. 

Dick. Oh, I don't think the Imp would ever do a 
thing like that. He'll be master of his own house and 
all that, of course, but 

Phyll. Will he — do you really think he will? 

Dick. I don't think I've considered the matter. 

Phyll. I have; the Imp and I will chat it over some 
day; I daresay we shall come to an understanding. I 
think I must try and do something that'll make you not 
respect me quite so much. 

Dick. Eh? 

Phyll. It's an awful nuisance to be so fearfully re- 
spected — it makes one feel quite lonely, almost as if 
one was a marble statue out in the east wind. I should 
have to put up with being respected if I were a fright 
like the pictures of Queen Elizabeth — but as I'm only 
me — it's different. Couldn't you give up respecting me 
so fearfully? Just now and then. 

Dick. I — I don't see that it's possible — but — I'll have 
a try if you like. 

Phyll. {delightedly) Will you, really? Oh do — 
begin now. 

Dick. Well — I — er — it isn't a thing one can do all at 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 29 

once, is it? You'd have to — sort of — give me a lead, 
you know. 

Phyll. Would I — oh, yes, I suppose that is the best 
way — well, suppose I do this — I put this arm round your 
shoulder, so — (she is standing behind his chair) and 
then I lean my cheek against the back of your head 
sympathetically, like this — How does that feel? 

Dick. Feels as if I was going to be electrocuted. 

Phyll. Oh! 

Dick. You mustn't ruffle my hair, you know, coz the 
Soldier-Man's coming to lunch, and — if — everybody's 
hair isn't smarmy, he loses his appetite. 

Phyll. Oh, bother the Colonel— let's talk about our- 
selves. Dick, what is the thing you wish for most in 
the world? 

Dick. To see 

Phyll. Don't say it— (quickly) I know exactly 
what you're going to say. (and with a choke, she moves 
quickly from him and goes up to the windoiv) 

Dick. (a little surprised at her tone) Do you 
really? 

Phyll. Yes. 

Dick. What was I going to say? 

Phyll. To see me and the Imp happily married, 
weren't you? 

Dick. Well, as a matter of fact, I was. 

Phyll. Oh, I'm so glad — it's the thing I wish for most, 
too — isn't it lucky that you should make all these plans 
for us — and we should be so pleased about it? Oh, but 
doesn't such happiness make one nervous — one begins 
to dread one's unworthiness and to feel sure that some- 
thing must happen sooner or later to prevent it coming 
off. Oh! if anything happened to prevent this — I — think 
I should die — just fade away from grief — don't you, 
Dick? 

Dick. Nothing will happen, dear! 

Phyll. Are you sure — Oh, say you're quite sure. 

Dick. I'm quite sure — sure. 

Phyll. Suppose the Imp were to tire of me? 

Dick. That's impossible. 

Phyll. (snuggling up to him) Is it, Dick — why is 
it? 

Dick. Because — oh — because you are you, I suppose. 

Phyll. Don't you think if you were in the Imp's 
place you might get a little tired of me sometimes, just 
a little? 

Dick. No — not a little. 



30 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Phyll. Ah — but you haven't ever pictured yourself 
in the Imp's place. 

Dick, (softly, as if to himself) Yes, I have often. 

Phyll. (Rising and looking him full in the eyes) 
Have you — pictured yourself married to me — oh, Dick! 
(then tenderly) Was it nice? 

Dick. (with a laugh) Here — here — here — come 
along now — Finances! we've chatted enough nonsense 
for one morning. 

Phyll. Yes, I think we've done very well — consid- 
ering. 

Dick. Let's see — £473 — in the current account wasn't 
it? 

Phyll. Yes. 

Dick, (lightly) Then who dares to say the firm 
isn't flourishing? 

(A pause, Phyllis looks out at nothing in particular.) 

Phyll. How odd it would be, wouldn't it? 

Dick, (looking up) What? 

Phyll. What you're always picturing to yourself. 

Dick. . (aghast at the notion) You're a trying young 
woman to make a casual remark to. I'm always pic- 
turing myself married to all sorts of very nice people — 
why I've pictured myself married to your mother be- 
fore now. 

Phyll. So have I — in fact, I've suggested it to 
mother often. 

Dick. Thank you, very much. I think I shall get 
through these papers more quickly in my own room. 

(He rises — so does she.) 

Phyll. I'll come with him. 
Dick, (firmly) You'll do no such thing. 
Phyll. But I'd like to. 

Dick. I don't care — you've pictured your mother as 
my wife 

(Enter Mrs. Ericson.) 

So you've pictured me as your other parent, so perhaps 
you will go a step further and picture yourself doing 
what your parent tells you for once in a way. 

Phyll. Yes, papa dear. 

Mrs. E. Papa dear! 

Dick, (aghast) No, no, dear lady — No — no — not at 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 31 

all — merely a silly dream. Please don't consider it 
seriously — a dream — merely a dream. (Tie dashes out) 

(Mrs. E. looks after Dick, then 1)ack to his door, and 
says hurriedly.) 

Mrs. E. Phyllis! 

Phyll. (someivhat startled ty her tone) Mother! 

Mbs. E. Oh my dear, I've done a dreadful thing, I 
know it was very wrong of me — but I couldn't help it. 

Phyll. Gracious — what have you done? 

Mrs, E. I found a crumpled letter in the hall — and I 
picked it up and smoothed it out to see who it belonged 
to, and, as I was smoothing it out I accidentally read 
a little and — and — oh it gave me such a shock that I 
read it all — I — I've read it twice or three times — I don't 
know which and oh — I really don't know what to say 
or think. 

Phyll. Whose letter was it? 

Mrs. E. It was a woman's letter — (a pause) to Dick. 

Phyll. To Dick? 

Mrs. E. Yes! he — he's making arrangements to be 
married, and — he doesn't want any of us to know. 

Phyll. (slowly) Making arrangements to be — How 
do you know? 

Mrs. E. Oh, there's quite a lot about it in the letter. 

Phyll. Arrangements to be 

(A pause.) 

Mrs. E. It will be terribly inconvenient for us — of 
course, he won't want us with him then. 

Phyll. Are you sure? 

Mrs. E. Oh, perfectly sure. I think Dick might have 
been more open with us — after all we've done for him. 

Phyll. What have we done for him, but sponge on 
him and spend his money? 

Mrs. E. (helplessly leaving the letter) Oh, what am 
I to do with it— (a pause) I— I think I'll go and drop 
it behind the coats again. 

Phyll. No — give it to Dick — if it's his. 

Mbs. E. My dear, I daren't. 

Phyll. Give it to me, then — I will. 

Mrs. E. (a little nervous) I don't think you ought 
to read it dear — some of it is a little 

Phyll. (with a litter smile) Don't be alarmed, I 
don't intend to read it. 

Mrs. E. (handing it to her with a parting glance at 



32 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

it) They really must be very much in love with each 
other. 

(Phyllis takes the letter and fights against her desire 
to read it — but eventually she gives way, and with a 
little gasp, she reads it hurriedly — then she turns her 
horrified gaze and meets her mother's eyes.) 

Phyll. (completely awed) What sort of woman is 
she? 

Mrs. E. (feebly) I think she must be a foreigner. 
I've heard foreign ladies are frequently very fluent. 

(Phyllis is standing staring into space — her mother is 
sitting on the sofa, in an attitude of deep dejection 
— as Dick enters.) 

Dick. I told you that the Trinity are lunching with 

us again to (he stops and looks at them both in 

surprise) 

(Phyllis, without turning to him or looking at him, 
holds out the letter toioards him.) 

Phyll. You dropped this. 

(He takes it in surprise — reads it in silence, then folds 
it up, puts it in his pocket, and looks steadily at 
Phyllis.) 

Dick. Where did you find it? 

Phyll. Mother found it behind the coats in the hall. 

Dick. Oh! (a pause) You have read it? 

Mrs. E. (with a gulp) I didn't mean to. 

Dick. Of course not. 

Phyll. (haughtily) I read it because I chose to. 

Dick. Yes — (a pause) — Well! 

Mrs. E. The — I'm very sorry — but this is very unex- 
pected — I'm sure, I wish you every happiness, Mr. 
Carew, if you're half as good a husband as you have been 
a friend — your wife will be a lucky woman. (holding 
out her hand to him) 

Phyll. I hope you'll be very happy, Dick — very — 
very — happy. You deserve to be, only — you might have 
trusted me with the secret, mightn't you? 

Dick. I — I wish I had. 

Phyll. Kara Glynesk. It's a pretty name — I aeem 
to have seen it somewhere. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 33 

Dick. You may have — it's all over the walls and on 
most of the 'buses. She performs at the Garden Thea- 
tre. 

Mrs. E. (horrified) She performs! 

Dick. You've seen the large, scarlet picture of her on 
the walls, there's one on the boardings opposite. 

Phyll. That woman! Oh, Dick! (then she re- 
covers herself) I do hope that you'll both be very — 
very happy. 

Dick. Oh, I expect it'll be all right. I daresay she is 
not as red as she's painted, you know. 

Mrs. E. It was a lucky thing the servants didn't find 
the letter. 

Dick. Very. 

Phyll. Does the Imp know? 

Dick. Nobody knows — but you and your mother. 

Mrs. E. You may rely on our discretion — at least, I 
can only answer for my own. We shall be seven for 
lunch. I had better attend to my household duties be- 
fore they are transferred to abler hands than mine. 

Dick. Eh? 

Mrs. E. The future Mrs. Carewe. 

Dick. Oh, yes, of course — she will naturally expecet 
to er 

(Mrs. "E.goes out a little stiffly.) 

Phyll. (stands staring at the floor, then at last she 
says, with an effort) It's a terrible thing for a woman 
to have to acknowledge herself a failure. 

Dick. What do you mean? 

Phyll. I don't think you'd understand. (another 
pause, and then she laughs a little) Fancy my having 
to say that of you — I couldn't have said that yester- 
day. 

Dick. There are a great many things none of us can 
understand. 

Phyll. It was the dearest wish of my heart to be 
your true friend and — and — see how hopeless it has 
been. 

Dick. Don't say that — oh, don't say that, you hurt 
me. 

Phyll. Haven't you hurt vie? 

Dick. How? I — I didn't mean to. 

Phyll. Of course, I'm awfully glad you're going to 
get married. The Imp and I have often felt that the 
one drawback to our complete happiness was the fact 
that you'd be left so lonely. Now, of course — it's all 



34 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

splendid — but what hurts is that you didn't let me share 
your secret with you — that you didn't trust me. And 
all these years I've tried so hard to make you trust me 
■ — and see how miserably I have failed. (a long pause, 
then she says, impulsively) Dick — Dick — I didn't mean 
to be a beast — I hope you'll be awfully happy — I do, in- 
deed — I do, indeed. 

(The hall door opens and the Imp and Sir H. reappear. 
The Ijmp is seen to disappear hurriedly down the outer 
passage, while Sir H. conies into the room.) 

Sir H, God bless my soul — young lady, your future 
husband is a most erratic young man. I take him out 
for a short walk, and a serious chat, to be washed down 
with a glass of milk — and we haven't gone a hundred 
yards — before he gives a gasp and makes a bolt for 
home, saying he'd forgotten his pocket handkerchief or 
something equally infantile. I — hallo! Dick, what's 
gone wrong with you? 

Dick. Nothing, old man — come to my sanctum — we'll 
have a quiet smoke. 

Phyll. {aside to Dick) Do the Trinity know? 

Dick. Not a word. 

Sir H. There's something in that prospect that 
pleases — but surely we're as well off here? 

Dick. Not a bit of it. Come to my room. 

(Dick goes out.) 

Sir H. Lord — he's a masterful creature — that's the 
way he used to order me about 30 years ago. 

Phyll. (bitterly) Is it? 

Sir H. When he was a boy 

Phyll. Oh, I daresay he was just like other boys as 
now he is just like other men. 

Sir H. (puzzled) I'm referring to Dick. 

Phyll. So am I 

(Sir H. is atout to speak, when Dick calls him sharply, 
and Sir H. hurries out very perplexed and with his 
face full of concern. Phyllis stands motionless for 
a moment, then swiftly presses her hands to her tem- 
ples,, and cries out.) 

I won't believe it — it isn't true. How could such a 
thing be true? 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 35 

(The Imp enters in a great state of agitation, looking 
hurriedly about him — she watches his movements 
listlessly for a moment.) 

Lost anything? 

Imp. (shortly) No. 

(A pause. He glances round the room furtively — she 
watching him; suddenly a thought flashes into her 
face, and she gasps.) 

Phyll. Richard — Dick! (she springs to her feet, 
pointing at him) You! — you! — Oh, you darling, you 
darling! 

(And, to his intense astonishment, she flings her arms 
round his neck and hugs him — laughing hysteric- 
ally) 

Imp. Here — good gracious! Hang it all, Phyllis, 
don't be an ass. 

Phyll. (half laughing, half crying) Isn't it like 
him? Oh, isn't it just like him? 

Imp. Like who? 

Phyll. Nobody. Imp — Imp — you're a miserable — 
hopeless — immoral, horrid young man — but, oh. Imp, 
you darling — you've made me fearfully happy. 

Imp. (gloomily) Have I? I — I suppose I have, 
(a pause) that's the worst of it. 

Phyll. What's that? 

Imp. I — er — look here, Phyllis, it's no good going on 
like this, is it? I — I can't stand it, you know — it keeps 
me awake at nights thinking of it — and goodness knows 
what with everything I want all the sleep I can get 
just now. 

Phyll. Beauty sleep? 

Imp. Look here — I — that is — you and I — er — I mean 
it's no good beating about the bush is it? 

Phyll, I don't understand — I — Imp, what is it? — 
something terrible has happened, I see it in your face. 
Oh — Imp, don't, don't tell me anything has happened. 

Imp. Well — you see it's this way. (he stops awk- 
wardly) 

Phyll. (with an assumption of terrified anticipa- 
tion) Don't say any more just yet — give me time — 
you're a man — be — be very gentle with me. Imp — I — I'm 
only a weak, loving woman. 

Imp. (with a gulp) Well, you see — when you and I 



36 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

— were engaged — we — well — we didn't know as much of 
the world as we do now — did we? 

(a pause, she rises and faces him.) 

(nervously) I say, Phyllis, don't look at a fellow like 
that — it's hard enough for me as it is. Goodness knows. 

Phyll. {slowly) What is hard enough for you as it 
is? 

Imp. Why, to have to tell a girl that's fond of you 

(he stops again) 

Phyll. Don't say it, Mr. Audaine, I understand. 

(A long pause.) 

Imp. You — you don't think any the worse of me, do 
you, Phyllis? 

Phyll. I — I — somehow, I can't think at all — every- 
thing seems dark — my brain won't work — it's numb. 

Imp. (in agony) Oh, I say, don't — there's a dear 
girl — I — know it must be awful for you — but — but — Oh, 
what could I do, Phyllis — I couldn't help myself. I 
fought against it, I did, indeed. 

Phyll. You — you — love — some one — else? 

Imp. I — I — couldn't help it, really, 

Phyll. Tell me — everything. I — I won't faint, I can 
be very brave. 

Imp, I will — there isn't very much to tell. 

Phyll. Who is she? 

Imp. She's the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Phyll. Oh, Imp — what does beauty matter? Is she 
very — very good? 

Imp. Er — of course, she's good, 

Phyll. Is she very — very religious — and domesti- 
cated? 

Imp. I don't know about very religious or the other 
thing. But she's got glorious eyes. Oh, if you could 
only look into her eyes — you'd know how good 
she was then, 

Phyll. Yes, I expect I should — Imp, I will not let 
the world know the — the heartaches I shall have to bear, 
I will be very brave, you shall take mother and me to 
call. 

Imp, Eh? Oh, would you — you see — it — it isn't 
quite definite just yet, 

Phyll. Doesn't she love you? 

Imp. Yes, of course, that part of it's all right, but — 
you see, marriage is a jolly serious thing — it's for life, 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 37 

you know. For good and all — and all that. So one 
can't only think of the love part — there are settlements 
and things. I shall have to settle all I've got on her, 
of course. * 

Phyll. Does she insist on that? 

Imp. She doesn't, of course — but — she's got a friend 
— a sort of business manager, she calls him — rather a 
cad of a fellow, I think — and — er 

Phyll. He does. 

Imp. Yes — yes — He's quite right — and all that, of 
course — but — I — well, I don't exactly know how much 
I've got to settle. I expect I'm pretty well off — but — 
that, of course, up to now has been Dick's affair. 

Phyll. What will Dick say? 

Imp. Ah — that's it. 

Phyll. You haven't told him? 

Imp. Of course, I haven't — not yet — he couldn't un- 
derstand. 

Phyll. Why couldn't he? 

Imp. Oh, what could a fellow like Dick know about 
love, and all that! 

Phyll. Ah — what, indeed? 

Imp. It's awfully good of you to take it so well, 
Phyl — it is indeed — not one girl in a hundred would 
have been such a brick. 

Phyll. I feel it very deeply, Richard — but I show 
nothing I — I am very proud; if — if — this blow should 
happen to change my nature, — I — I — shall do something 
great — I — I'll go on the stage. My name shall be in 
every man's mouth, my photograph on every man's man- 
telpiece, my face in every shop window and my figure 
in full upon every wall. I've got a tendency that way, 
I know, because, when a week ago an old man with a 
long brush and a pail pasted on the boarding opposite 
this window a poster of a glorious creature — an ideal 
woman with crimson limbs and flame coloured hair, 
something seemed to wake up inside me, and as I 
watched the figure standing boldly out limb by limb 
against a background of gauzy drapery — I realized how 
narrow was life's look-out for me. How could I hope 
to win and keep the love of an honest man — and now it 
has all come true. Oh, Imp, Imp, if years ago I had 
cast to the winds all petticoats and prudery, I might 
have proved worthy of you now. But — but — as it is, I 
must school myself to think that all is for the best. 

Imp. Well, of course, it is no good crying over spilt 
milk, is it, Phyl— and— and — it's awfully odd you should 
mention her — but — it — that's she 



38 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Phyll. (looking up at him as if completely l)ewil- 
dered) She — (then in an awed whisper) The one on 
the wall? 

(He nods.) 

Oh, Imp — she loves you? 

Imp. Yes — it — it somehow takes my breath away 
when I think of it. 

Phyll. (after a pause) Oh, Richard, where will you 
be able to keep such a wonderful thing as that? 

Imp. I haven't spoken to her about it yet — but I've 
been looking about for a flat. 

Phyll. (with a shudder) A fiat! You couldn't — 
you couldn't — that would be terrible — don't you see? 
Can't you feel how terrible that would be? 

Imp. Well — we must make a beginning somewhere — 
mustn't we? 

Phyll. It seems such a waste to keep her in one 
flat. 

Imp. She — she's a good deal more homely than you'd 
think she is from that picture you know. 

Phyll. Ah? 

(Mrs. Ericson calls from the other room.) 

Mrs. E. Phyllis, dear — you'll make the hock cup, 
won't you? 

Phyll. Yes, mother, I'm coming — (then, in a whis- 
per) Does she make hock cup, Richard? 

Imp. I don't know. 

Phyll. You've drunk so much of mine — but — I don't 
mean to reproach you. Imp, I don't, indeed — perhaps you 
wouldn't have if you'd known how everything was going 
to turn out. 

Imp. (suddenly) Great Scott! 

Phyll. What is it? 

Imp. That letter — I forgot. I must find it. I came 
home on purpose. 

Phyll. There was a letter picked up behind the coats 
in the hall. 

Imp. Where is it? 

Phyll. Dick has it. 

Imp. (toith horror) Dick! 

Phyll. Does it matter? 

Imp. Oh, my goodness — suppose he should read it! 

Phyll. (loftily) People with any sense of honour 
don't read other people's letters. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 39 

Imp. But— but— this was a fearfully private letter. 
Phyll. Oh, of course, that does make a difference. 

(Dick enters — a pause.) 

Dick, (gravely to Imp) Will you come to my study, 
I want to have a talk with you. 

Phyll. (quickly seeing the Imp's dismay) He can't 
come now. He has something very important to do for 
me. 

Dick. But — 

Phyll. It's very important, Dick. Go at once, Imp. 

Imp. (looking at her gratefully) I — I must go now, 
Dick — I — I — won't be long. 

Dick. Very well, (he goes to the window and looks 
out listlessly) 

(Phyllis watches him mischievously.) 

Phyll. Is it a good likeness, Dick? 
Dick, (not understanding) What? 
Phyll. The picture on the wall. 

(Dick catches her meaning, and with a groan pulls the 
blind doion and leaves the window.) 

(very gravely) I should have thought that you were 
the last man in the world to fall in love with that sort 
of woman, 

Dick, (shortly) Oh. 

Phyll. Yes— it only proves to me how right mother 
always is. 

Dick. What do you mean? 

Phyll. You see, mother having been married— 
knows a great deal about men. 

Dick. Ah! 

Phyll. And she isn't a bit surprised. 

Dick. Isn't she? I'm glad. 

Phyll. No— she says the quiet, fair men are gener- 
ally like that. 

Dick. Like what? 

Phyll. Oh — you know — easily attracted by— by pic- 
tures on the wall. 

Dick. I didn't know your mother was so observant. 

Phyll. Because you're going to be married, you 
needn't be rude to my mother. 

Dick. I wasn't rude to your mother. 



40 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Phyll. I think you were — you mayn't have meant it, 
Dick — but I think you decidedly were 

Dick. Oh, don't worry me, dear — I — I'm not in the 
mood to-day. 

Phyll. Poor old Dick — have you got a headache? 

Dick. Yes. 

Phyll. Then I won't worry — I — I'll be very sympa- 
thetic. I — I'll let you tell me about yourself — and — 
and your plans for the future with your wife that is 
to be. 

(Dick groans a little.) 

She — she seems to be very beautiful, Dick. Is she 
really as beautiful as that? 

Dick. I suppose so. 

Phyll. Oh, you must know. " Suppose so " sounds so 
cold — perhaps you don't like talking about her to me, 
do you mind talking about her to me, Dick? 

Dick. No. 

Phyll. I wonder do you love her as much as I love 
the Imp? 

Dick. I daresay. 

Phyll. Isn't it beautiful, being in love, Dick — 
doesn't it make one feel good and peaceful — and — and 
sunshiny. Don't you glow all over with pride and hap- 
piness every time you see that picture on the wall. 

Dick. No, I don't, if you really want to know. 

Phyll. Don't you — how odd. I should love to see a 
picture of the Imp on the wall — that size. 

Dick. Would you? 

Phyll. Yes, and every time I saw a crowd of ladies 
looking at it I should say to myself — look away ladies, 
all that belongs to me. Just how you must feel when 
you see everybody — even the policeman, looking at 
your future wife's picture. Do you approve of the drap- 
ery being so — so far away? 

Dick. No. 

Phyll. I'm glad you don't, because I don't either. 

Dick. Will you kindly be quiet? I'm not in the 
mood for this sort of talk. 

Phyll. Dick. 

Dick. Oh, run away, there's a dear — I've lots of 
things to think about. 

Phyll. You've lost your temper. 

Dick. I daresay I have. 

Phyll. Well, as you've lost your temper and prac- 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 41 

tically told me to leave the room — I won't try to be nice 
to you any more. 

Dick. That's a good thing. 

PnYLL. Is it? And I'll tell the truth to you now. I 
think it's disgusting your being in love with a woman 
like that. 

Dick. I daresay. 

Phyll. And if it had been any one I'd been really 
fond of 

Dick, (rising) If — if it had been the Imp? 

Phyll. (proudly) That's impossible, the Imp is en- 
gaged to me, but if it had been the Imp, even the Imp — 
no matter how much I loved him, I'd never have spoken 
to him again. 

Dick. Would it break your heart never to speak to 
him again? 

Phyll. That's a curious question for you to ask, con- 
sidering that our marriage has been almost entirely ar- 
ranged by you. 

Dick, (sadly) Yes — yes — I know. 

Phyll. I think it's rather mean to suggest to me of 
all people that the Imp could do such a thing. 

Dick. I didn't. 

Phyll. I'm in error again, I suppose, or my hearing 
must be defective. 

Dick. Oh, do leave me alone. 

Phyll. You won't be worried with me much longer. 
After I'm married and you're married, I don't suppose 
we shall see much of each other, for I don't think either 
the Imp or I would ever be likely to be very friendly 
with the red lady on the wall. 

Dick. Have you done? 

Phyll. Very nearly. I don't mind telling you that 
now mother's worst suspicions are confirmed, it's just 
possible that her principles won't allow us to trespass 
on your hospitality much longer. 

Dick. Oh, and how long has your mother had these 
suspicions of me, may I ask? 

Phyll. Oh, about three years. 

Dick. Ever since you've been living here — eating my 
bread and 

Phyll. We didn't eat much bread. 

Dick. It's a pity your mother didn't realize what a 
bad lot I was a year or two sooner. 

Phyll. Oh, I think she did — but she often said to 
me — it wasn't wise to throw out dirty water before we'd 
got in clean, (a pause — she says softly, thinking she 



42 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

has gone too far) Dick, that isn't true. She never 
said that. 
Dick, (wearily) No, I don't suppose she did. 

(He is sitting listlessly, very tired, very dejected, look- 
ing at the pattern on the carpet. Phyllis goes to the 
door — turns and stands looking lovingly at him for 
a moment, then, ivith a little happy silent laugh, she 
creeps quietly to the back of his chair, throws her 
arms round his neck and kissing him gently, runs 
from the room. Dick looks up, startled — half rises, 
then sinks back again.) 

Now, what made her do a silly thing like that? (he 
runs his fingers hopelessly through his hair) 

(Sir H. comes in from the study.) 

Sir H. Isn't he about? 

Dick. He's just gone out to get something for Phyl. 

Sir H. It's a bit of a facer, isn't it? 

Dick. On my soul, I don't quite know where to be- 
gin. 

Sir H. I don't expect it's anything very serious — 
boys will be boys. 

Dick. He is engaged to be married to the sweetest 
girl in England. 

Sir H. Oh, I don't defend it. 

Dick, (going to the window and pulling up the blind 
— then again remembering the poster) Damn the 
poster. 

(The bell rings.) 

There he is. 

(The Maid goes to the hall door and opens it.) 

Doctor, (heard off) Any one at home? 
Dick. It's Terry and the Soldier-Man. 

(He goes out into the hall.) 

Morning, you fellows — You're just in time. 

S. Man. Morning, Dick — where's Waddles? 

Dick. He's here — we — we're all here, you're just in 
time for a council of war. (he comes down) 

Doctor, (to the S. Man) Corporal— it's all out. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 43 

S. Man. Council of war — good — what's the trouble, 
Dick? 
Dick. Sit down! 

{They sit down.) 

Read this. 
S. Man. (glancing at letter) To you? 
Dick. No, to the Imp. 

(He hands the letter to the Doctor, who reads it in 
silence — and gives a low whistle.) 

Doctor. Shall I 

Dick, (grimly) Pass it on. 

(The Doctor hands it to Col. Grahame, who also reads 
it and grunts — offers it to Waddles.) 

Sir *H. Not again, thank you. 

(The Soldier-Man puts it on the talle and there is a mo- 
ment's silence.) 

Doctor. What sort of looking woman is she? 
Dick. Judge! 

(He goes up to the ivindoiv, the three men follow him 
and follow the direction of his pointing finger.) 

Sir H. (gazes placidly at the poster, then murmurs 
to himself) Very — very soothing. 

S. Man. The Firefly! by all that's damnable. 

Dick. Is she 

S. Man. (answering the unspoken question) Quite 
one of the most notorious. 

Dick, (facing the three silent men) And now I 
shall be glad to know what we are going to do. 

Doctor. How did you find it out? 

Dick. Mrs. Ericson picked up that letter, read it, 
handed it on to Phyllis, who also read it and handed it 
on to me. 

Doctor. To Phyllis! Good God — and she engaged 
to him! 

S. Man. Poor girl! What a blow for her. 

Dick. That's the one slice of luck in the whole mis- 
erable business. 

Doctor. Doesn't she care for him? 



44 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Dick. Of course, she worships him. 

Doctor. Then where's the slice of luck? 

Dick. They think the lady is in love with me. 

Omnes. What! 

Dick, (taking up letter) "Dick." I'm Dick. The 
Imp's Richard, too, but he's never Dick to us — he's the 
Imp. So I'm — thanks to that trivial misunderstanding 
— the future husband of that scarlet horror stuck upon 
the wall. However, that doesn't matter, my shoulders 
are broad enough to bear even that. I'm all right, it's 
the Imp's got to be looked after, or else he'll burn his 
fingers. Good God, I've rescued from danger before I — 
I've seen him through scarlet fever — diphtheria — all the 
other ills of his babyhood — this is a very similar sort 
of complaint, and if we can't pull him through, his 
father was a poor judge of guardians when he gave the 
boy to us. We'll talk to him — we'll open his juvenile 
eyes — we'll 

S. Man. Do you suppose we'll succeed in convincing 
him? 

(A long pause.) . . 

Dick, (wearily) No. I don't suppose we shall — 
at first. We've got to put this thing right, ye know. 
We're responsible to Charlie for the boy's life and we'll 
take jolly good care he doesn't spoil it by this sort of 
thing. 

S. Man. Phyllis must be considered — wouldn't it be 
as well to let their marriage be broken off for the pres- 
ent? 

Dick. Man alive, if she knew he'd — he'd turned his at- 
tention to this sort of thing, she'd never speak to him 
again — she's as proud as Lucifer. 

Sir H. Are you sure she loves him? 
, Dick. Certain. I asked her just now — she was 
rounding on me about it — telling me how contemptible 
she thought it all — and — and — and I asked her what 
she'd have done if — if it had been the Imp — and she said 
that she'd give him up and hate him forever — though 
she knew it would break her heart, 

S. Man. Um! That does make it awkward, doesn't 
it? 

Sir H. Well, there's fact one she loves him — now then 
— fact two is he doesn't love her. And fact three, they 
certainly ought not to be married under such condi- 
tions. 

Dick. No, no— you're going all wrong. You're wrong 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 45 

in saying he doesn't love her — he does in his heart of 
hearts. This (pointing to the window) — sort of thing 
— is — isn't pleasant, of course, but it — it's only his youth 
— you know. We all seem to go through it — at least so 
I'm told. When he finds out what it's all worth he'll 
sicken of it, damn quick, and then he'll marry and set- 
tle down — and — and — be the man we all want to see him. 

Doctor. Do you think that sort of thing (pointing to 
poster) is a necessary part of a young man's education? 

Dick. Certainly not, but now that he has tumbled 
into the water, let's pick him out and dry him as quickly 
as we can. 

Sir H. I don't think it will do him any harm. 

Doctor. And I'm sure it won't do him any good. 

(The door opens and the Imp enters quietly — he glances 
at the four men — closes the door behind him and 
comes sloivly down into the room.) 

Imp. You — (he clears his throat) You are all very 
solemn — are you talking about me? 
Dick. Yes. 

Imp. I — I dropped a letter. 
Dick. Here it is. 

(The Imp takes it, folds it up — and puis it in his pocket 
— he then strolls with affected nonchlance to the fire- 
place and lights a cigarette — a pause.) 

(slowly) I have read your letter. 

Imp. (looking at him as if greatly astonished) You 
have read my letter? 

Dick, (gravely) Yes. 

Sir H. We've all read your letter. 

Imp. Really? I always thought there were some 
things gentlemen did not do. 

Dick, (gently) Don't let's begin like this. You 
know that we four would do anything in the world to 
help you. 

Imp. Even to reading my letters. I'm grateful. 

S. Man. So you ought to be. There are damn few 
hoy's letters I'd take the trouble to read. 

Imp. I hope you all found it interesting. 

Doctor, (slowly) We did that. 

(A pause — none of the Quadrity know quite how to "be- 
gin — the Imp's attitude has rather upset their calcula- 
tions. The Imp blows a few rings of smoke and 



46 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

waves them aside gracefully with his hand, then says 
enquiringly.) 

Imp. Well — and now? 

Dick. Now we — we want you to tell us all about it. 

Imp. Surely, the letter doesn't leave me much to tell. 

Dick. It leaves a great deal. Come, come, old man — 
we've all been young 'uns in our time — let's have your 
version of this little love story. 

Imp. There is very little to tell. I have asked Miss 
Glynesk 

S. Man. The FireHy. 

Imp. (gives him a glance and continues) I have 
asked Miss Glynesk to be my wife, and she has done me 
the honour to say all right. 

Sir H. Oh, has she? 

Sir H. Devil doubt her! 

Dick. Yes — I — I gathered that from the letter — but — 
but — you see, old man — there are many things to be 
considered — things, that in your impetuosity you may 
have overlooked. Now here we are — four sober-minded, 
middle-aged men — whose — well, I know I'm in this 
speaking for myself — whose principal thought in life 
is to try and make things smooth for you. That's so, 
isn't it, you chaps? 

S. Man. Certainly. 

Sir H. Quite so. 

Doctor. It is that. 

Imp. I know, of course, I know all about that, and 
I don't want you to think I'm a conceited young ass — but 
there comes a time in every man's life when his own 
judgment is of greater use to him than other people's. 

Dick. Perhaps this is not that time. 

Imp. I think it is. (then there is a pause and the 
Imp throws his cigarette, half finished, into the fire- 
place) 

Dick, (slowly) What does your own judgment 
prompt you to do? 

Imp. To marry the woman I love. 

S. Man. The Firefly. 

Dick. She — she is a good deal older than you are — 
isn't she, old man? 

Imp. She is a little older, 

Dick, (slowly) And I hear — that she has seen a 
good deal, of the world. 

Imp. I believe she has travelled a great deal. 

Sir H. (chiming in) I suppose you know that peo- 
ple say 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 47 

Imp. (interrupting) I should have thought, Sir 
Horace, j^ou'd have learnt by this time to pay no atten- 
tion to what "people say " — for myself, when I know a 
person, I form my own judgment — and — " People can 
say " what they please — for all I care. 

Dick. You're right — you're quite right, of course — 
but in this instance 

Imp. (breaking in) Look here. I know you were 
all great friends of my father — and you've been jolly 
good to me and all that, but on this subject, I may as 
well tell you I shouldn't have allowed even him to in- 
terfere—it's my affair, and I've made up my mind about 
it. 

Dick, (gently) You're wrong, old man — nothing in 
this life is ever entirely one's own affair. Nobody can 
ever say, I stand alone — every step you take in life, 
whether towards evil or towards good, reacts upon your 
surroundings. Now I — oh, good God! you know I don't 
want to preach — I couldn't, I'm not built that way — 
I only want you to be — well, here we are, five fellows — 
let's all talk this matter over, find out what's the best 
thing to do and make up our minds, whether we like 
it or not, to do it. If it's best for you to marry this 
lady — marry her, and good luck to you — if it's best not 
to marry her — don't; let's hammer it out amongst us. 
Your father — the dearest, bravest, truest chap that ever 
stepped in shoe leather — gave you into our keeping when 
you were so high — we swore among ourselves to make 
you worthy of him — and we're going to try to keep our 
word. 

Imp. Is it making me worthy of him to try and make 
me break my promise to a woman? 

S. Man. (quietly) Which woman — which promise, 
you have given two. 

(T?ie shot goes home. The Imp loolcs at him for a mo- 
ment, then turns away — and leans his head against 
his arms on the mantelpiece, then speaks brokenly, 
after a pause.) 

Imp. I — you can't ask me to marry a woman I don't 
love— I thought I did once— but I didn't— I know that 
now. 

S. Man. You got engaged to her. 

Imp. I— I was a fool— but— but everybody seemed to 
think it was all right — Dick wished it — you all wished 
it — and — and — (in a low voice) she seemed to wish it, 
too. 



48 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Sir H. (jumps up, excited) You young cad — do 
you 

Dick, (restraining him) Hush! 

Imp. (breaking in hotly) Oh, I don't mean that she 
said so. I merely mean, everybody seemed to expect it 
— and — and — we drifted into it. I'm very sorry and all 
that, of course — but it's done, and it can't be helped. 

Dick. It can be helped. Now, listen • 

Imp. (getting rather flustrated — quickly) Oh, it's 
no good talking — you may just as well realize that in 
this matter I'll listen to no one. I know what a good 
friend you've been to me, Dick, and I'm grateful — but 
I'm no longer a boy. I'm old enough to manage my 
own affairs, and I intend to do it. 

S. Man. (breaking in brightly) Of course — we're 
all on the wrong tack, Dick, old fellow, we've been 
mounting the high horse and talking to the Imp as if he 
were a child. He isn't, he's a man of the world as we 
are — except that he's handicapped by being in love — we 
aren't . Now then. Imp — let's have your view of the 
situation as a man of the world. So it is absolutely es- 
sential to your happiness that you — er — marry this 
lady? 

Imp. (shortly) Yes. 

S. Man. Then you must have put your case before 
her very clumsily. 

Imp. (fiercely) What do you mean? 

S. Man. I don't think she has ever been approached 
with ceremony before. 

Imp. (starts forward furiously) You coward! 

(All the men rise except the Soldier Man.) 

jy (silencing them all with a shout) Stop there!' 

Imp. (passionately) Don't believe it^ Dick — don't 
believe it — it isn't true. 

Dick. Hush! Hush! Let's talk it out quietly— for 
pity's sake. 

Imp. I won't stand quietly here and hear the woman 
I love insulted, even by you. 

S. Man. Quite right — and if I told you certain facts 
concerning this lady's past, and gave you my honour 
that they were facts, you wouldn't believe me. 

Imp. I'd know that they were lies. 

S. Man. Quite right. Now that we know where we 
are — I can hold my tongue. 

Imp. You'd better. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 49 

(The Soldier-Man laughs — there is going to be another 
outbreak — again Dick checks it.) 

Dick. Stop this, I say. 

Imp. Yes, I will stop this once and for all — I'll go. 

Dick. Where? 

Imp. To her! I'll get her to fix our wedding day 
once and for all. 

Dick, (springs to the door and intercepts him) Not 
yet. Not yet! 

Imp. You can't keep me. I'm of age — I do as I 
choose now. 

Dick. Listen 

Imp. I've listened till I'm tired — what's the use of 
staying here with my hands behind my back while the 
woman I love is insulted? 

Dick. No — no! 

Imp. (stamping) I say yes — (a pause, then very 
quietly) Let me go, please, Dick. 

Dick, (gently) We — we're all a little excited now, 
old man — when you come back 

Imp. (sloivly) I shall not come back. 

(A pause.) 

Dick, (looks at him and at last speaks with an ef- 
fort) You will not come back? 

Imp. What's the use? I love her — nobody under- 
stands. 

Dick. You — you want to go away from me? 

Imp. I don't " want " to. You leave m.e no choice — 
you believe what he says — (he points to Col. Geahame 
— a pause) Don't you? 

Dick, (slowly) Yes. 

Imp. (with a little choke) Then wouldn't you de- 
spise me if I stayed? 

(There is a pause arid Dick slowly moves away from 
the door and down toivards the fireplace. The Laip 
stands irresolute for a moment, as if there was some- 
thing he would like to say — hut the thought fails 
to find expression, and. h? turns to go — at the door 
he stops and turns to Dick pleadingly.) 

You — you've been very good to me, Dick — I — I'm going 
to her — won't you wish me luck? 

Dick, (after a pause, says huskily) I — I'm think- 
ing of your father — if she is worthy of him — worthy of 



50 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

you — then, good luck to you, Imp — good luck. {he 
"buries his head on his folded arms) 

Imp. (gladly) Thanks, Dick, thanks. I'll tell her 
what you say. (and he turns and darts out, slamming 
the door) 

(They all rise except Dick.) 

S. Man. Great Scott, Dick — what do you mean by 
that? 

Dick. God knows — the boy may be right, after all — 
he knows the woman — I don't. 

S. Man. (emphatically) I do — she's been the ruin 
of half a dozen men of my acquaintance. 

Dick. No — no! 

S. Man. I tell you, yes; if the boy wants to marry 
her, she'll marry him — spend his money — then he who 
bids more will carry her off, husband or no husband. 
She's for sale, I tell you — for sale. To be bought as 
one would buy a flower. 

Dick, (starting up fiercely — striking the table with 
his fist) Is she? Then, I'll buy her — I'll buy her — 
she's mine — she shan't belong to him and wreck his life 
— she shall belong to me, if the price is high — stand by 
me 

Sib H. Mine's yours. 

Doctor. And mine. 

S. Man. And mine! 

Dick. Good men! The Trinity sees this through. 



QUICK CURTAIN. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 51 



ACT III. 

Scene. — A gaudily furnished room. Many photographs 
of The Firefly. A flaming red poster pinned to the 
curtains; a table, carpet on the centre of stage, and 
much debris about; soda ivater bottles and a tanta- 
lus lying on the floor— the room giving every evi- 
dence of having been the scene of a disturbance. 

{Various lithos of Kara on walls and floor in her various 
big parts. Babette, a French maid, viciously pretty, 
heard expostulating in Kara's room.) 

Bab. Oh, Madame, mais c'est impossible — vraiment, 
vraiment, c'est impossible. 

Kara, (off) I don't care if it is— it's got to be done. 
Look alive now, look alive! 

(Babette enters.) 

Bab. Oh, I 'ate air. I ate 'air! An' she 'ave spilt 
de table— Oh, I say— too bad— too bad— too bad! (pick- 
ing up the things) She 'ave crack 'im— so stoopid! so 
very stoopid! I 'ate air! 

(Bells rings.) 

Dat is Mistaire 'Ughie's ring. Oh, he will catch it 'ot 
— so 'ot! pretty quick, I tell 'im! 

(Goes up and out at back. Hall door heard to open 
and Hughie's voice.) 

Babette. Hello, Babette, what's all the bobbery? 

Bab. Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieii, mon Dieu! 

HuGHiE. (enters) Mon Dieu-ing ain't enlightening, 
Babette. I repeat, what's the bobbery? (he looks 
round ot the disordered room) Hello— been bavin' a bit 
of a beano here, ain't yon? ^ 

Bab. Beano! Oh, mon Dieu! dat v/ord is much too 



52 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

little. You know quite soon — pretty dam quick. Vas 
Madame's brougham at ze door? 

HuGHiE. Yes. 

Bab. Good! (she goes to door) Ze carriage is wait- 
ing, Madame. 

Kaka. Let it wait! 

Bab. (picks up some broken china) Look, she crack 
'im in her rage. I sink she crack you, too, pretty dam 
quick, too. 

HuGHiE. Crack me? Really that seems superfluous, 
considering she broke me a few years ago. Again I en- 
quire solicitously, what is the bobbery? 

Bab. (with meaning) I think you know. 

HucxHiE. Well, if you put it like that — I think I do. 

Bab. She sent for you, eh? 

HuGHiE. To be sent for by the Firefly is a distinc- 
tion. 

Bab. This time it is an extinction, my frien'. 

HuGHiE. Your English is getting quite encyclopsedic. 

Bab. Encyclopagdic? I do not know him. Madame 
have sent for ze ozair damn fool, too. 

HuGHiE. (sitting up) Wallis? 

Bab. Wallis. Oui, oui, oui — oh yes. She crack 'im, 
too, I 'ope so. 

HuGHiE. Again superfluous. Our firefly likewise 
broke him beyond any riveting exactly four months be- 
fore she performed the same operation for me — but, tell 
me why this craving to jump upon the pieces now? 

Bab. You know, you — you little peeg — you have 
played a trick on us. What was it you both tell her 
about zat nice little boy — ze Imp boy? 

HuGHiE. Young Audaine? Oh, only a few facts about 
his great wealth. 

Bab. (with a squeal) His wealth — is — oh — if you 
was not so infant, so young, I would like to say some 
sings in my own language. It was your plot — Mr. 
Wallis' plot — his plot — little damn fool! He swear he 
was so rich, so rich — five thousand a year to come soon. 
She, Madame, lose her head — she believe, and she get 
what you call hustle, and she have 

HuGHiE. (springing to his feet with a shout of de- 
light) Not married him — don't tell me she's married 
him! 

Bab. I tell you nozing. I leave dat to Madame — she 
tell you all dam.n quick. 

(Bell rings, and a faint cough heard.) 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 53 

Mr. Wallis! I know 'is cough— stoopid, stoopid, silly 
cough. 

HuGHiE. (almost to himself) By Jove! if we've 
bluffed Ler into that! what a score! Jumping Jehosha- 
phat, what a score! 

(Wallis enters, an immaculate youth.) 

Wallis. Hello, Hughie! Firefly telegraphed for me 
to call. 

Hughie. And for me. Wallis, my little one, she's 
swallowed it, hook and all, hook and all— we can call 
quits at last. 

Wallis. What! Has she— you don't 

Hughie. And our friend, the amorous youth 

Wallis. She's not 

Hughie. She has— she's married him! She's mar- 
ried him! Christians awake! ain't there going to be 
a row. 

Bab. Zare has been a row already. She 'ave turned 
'im out of doors. 

Hughie. Already! 

Bab. Dey was married dis morning. 

Wallis. Who was present? 

Bab. Only I— me— was. Oh, it is a grand secret. No 
one at all know, save Madame, Monsieur et moi. 

Hughie. My word, when his people find out, won't 
there be a shindy! 

Bab. He have not told zem yet. By Gar, I don't 
think he evaire tell anyone at all now— after what oc- 
cur zis afternoon. 

Hughie. You mean to say she turned him out of 
doors? 

Bab. Ah, oui — pourquoi non? 

Wallis But her husband — whoop! wouldn't I have 
liked to have been present! 

Hughie. Get on, Babette, you're slow enough to be 
English. Tell us what happened? 

Bab. Well, zis is it. Aftaire ze ceremony, zay come ■ 
home 'ere and have a little lunch— quite charming— 
oh, quite nice— but Monsieur 'e seem to 'ave somesing 
on his mind. 
Wallis. Should think he had just! 
Bab. But still all vaire charming, vaire nice! After 
lunch zey come in here and Madame Kara smoke a 
cigarette— 'e light it for her— vaire nice— vaire charm- 
ing— zen, all of a sudden, Madame take his hand. For- 
give her, she say, she very extravagant woman, and she 



54 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

go to ze bureau and she take out all zese. (pointing to 
letters of all sorts and conditions that are scattered 
about the room) 

HuGHiE. What are those? 

Bab. Bills, bills, bills — all zem is damn nasty bills. 
Ob, I 'ate bills! And she says to Monsieur, in such a 
sweet, sweet way, dat he will forgive her not mention- 
ing zem before — zey slip 'er memory — and she know he 
will pay zem all at once — so nice of 'im. 

Wallis. Go on — go on — this is great! 

HuGHiE. What then? 

Bab. Zen it was mos' surprisin'— suddenly he springs 
up an' zrow out 'is arms, and say wiz passion: " I 'ave 
deceive you, I am not rich man, only poor man rich in 
love. I love you, I love you, I am liar, cheat, black- 
guard, but I love you — all I 'ave is I love you. 

HUGHIE. 1 

AND [■ And then? 
Wallis. ) 



(A pause — Babette says very quietly.) 
Bab. {quaintly) You 'ave met Madame! 

HUGHIE. ] 

AND j- What happened? 

Wallis. ) 

Bab. (softly) Oh, a few little sings 'appen— just a 
few. (she points to broken china) I feel sorry for ze 
boy— ze— Oh, I mus' say I feel sorry for ze husband- 
she strike him full — once, twice, three times. 

HuGHiE. (quietly) What did he do? 

Bab. (gravely) He stand quite still— ver' white— 
ver' white and ver', ver still, and look at her wiz his 
great, sad eyes, and — and he bow his head. 

(Bell rings violently.) - 

Madame's bell! I come, pretty so damn quick, I come. 

(She exits hurriedly.) 

HuGHiE. By Jove, who would have thought she'd 
have been fooled so easily? 

Wallis. Greed, old son, greed— they're all alike. 
Dangle a golden plum and they'll gollop it down and 
chance the indigestion— and I must say we played our 
cards very well. There was every excuse for her be- 
lievin' the young 'un was a bally little gold mine. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 65 

HuGHiE. An' of course, when he didn't deny it, 
she 

Wallis. Oh, we're brainy little fellahs, both of us— 
ain't we, little son? 

HuGHiE. I'm brainy enough to think it wiser to 
(pantomimes ''getting out") before her ladyship has 
her little chat with us. You see, one must never neg- 
lect precedent, and she hit him — once, twice, three 
times. And I never was good in the ring. Will 
you 

Wallts. Oh, let's see her — she'll be deuced waxy — 
and the laugh's up to us now. 

HuGHiE. But the one, two, three 

Wallis. Chance it, little son— we're both of us pretty 
dodgy. I wonder what she'll do about it? Married to 
that kid without a farthing— gad, it's a rare lark! What 
the devil will his people say when they hear of it! It's 
pretty rough on them. 

HuGHiE. Yes, she isn't exactly an acquisition to a 
domestic circle. 

(HuGHiE has heen up at Mck helping himself to whiskey 
and soda.) 

Have one? It's about the last time we'll drink with the 
Firefly — we ain't so popular as we were. 

Wallis. Better fortify myself for the meeting. (he 
helps himself) Heard the news about Jimmy Hirsch? 

HuGHiE. Bankrupt? 

Wallis. No, on top again— cleared fourteen thou, 
over a Caranian deal. He'll be buzzin' around the Fire- 
fly again before you know where you are — that's my 
prophecy, little son. 

HuGHiE. If Jimmy Hirsch has got the dibs that 
means good-bye to little Hubby. 'Pon my soul, I b'lieve 
Jimmy Hirsch is the only man Firefly ever cared a brass 
button for. 

(Bell rings.) 

HuGHiE. Perhaps this is the redoubtable James. 
Wallis. What'll he say to the marriage? 
HuGHiE. That also will be interesting to observe. 

(Babette crosses and opens door. A handsome, rather 
loud voiced girl enters in hall dress.) 

Budgie. Isn't your mistress ready, Babette? 



56 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 



Bab. Not yet — not quite yet — it is only her 'air. 

HUGHIE. j 

AND V Hello, Budgie. 

Wallis. j 

Budgie. Hello, you chaps, aren't you coming to 
Covent Garden? 

HuGHiE. Later. 

Wallis. Kara has, what she is pleased to call, busi- 
ness with us. 

(Kara calls.) 

Kara. Babette! Babette! 

Bab. I come. 

HuGHiE. Oh, we must tell Budgie — it's too rich. 

Budgie. Fire away. 

HuGHiE. You know the young chap Kara met at the 
races — you were there. 

Budgie. The boy who blushed if one said " Boo." 

Wallis. That's the chap — ward of a barrister, 
Carewe. 

Budgie. Well, what of it? 

HuGHiE. It's the rarest thing you ever heard — come 
here and I'll whisper. Kara married him secretly this 
morning, so I'm told. 

Budgie. What!! 

Wallis. Isn't it regal? I tell you, Hughie and I de- 
serve a medal — we spoofed her clean. 

Budgie. Kara married him? Nonsense! He hasn't 
a sixpence. 

HuGUiE. We know that — that's where the joke comes 
in. Our Firefly was led to believe that the young 'un 
was a bally little gold mine. 

Budgie, (amazed and delighted) You don't mean to 
say she — oh, go on — go on — what a lark! 

Wallis. 'Course, Hughie and I are very fond of the 
Firefly, but well, she didn't let either of us down too 
gently, did she? So when she told us about this youth 
wantin' to marry her, we got this brilliant idea. Hughie 
dropped a hint about his colossal prospects, and I 
chimed in with a bit on my own 

Hughie. Then we got hold of the youth 

Wallis. And having convinced him that she'd send 
him to the right — about if he hadn't £5000 a year 

Hughie. He apparently posed as the possessor of 
many but imaginary millions, sooner than get the push. 

Budgie. By Jove, it's ripping! What a sell for Kara 
— won't she be sick! 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 57 

HuGHiE. I think she is. 

Budgie, (bubbling over with suppressed delight, goes 
quickly to door of Kara's room and calls) Kara, dear, 
I can't wait — I positively can't wait — I'll take a han- 
som. 

Kara. All right. 

Budgie. I must get there before she does — it's one of 
the best stories I've ever had a chance to tell. By-by, 
boys — we shall all meet later, if there's anything left 
of you when she's had her little say. By-by. 

Hug HIE. ] 

AND !■ By-by. 

Wallis. J 

Hughie. Sweet girl! 

Wallis. Sympathetic little soul! 



(Enter Babette.) 

Bab. Madame comes — en garde, Messieurs — she is 
very calm. 

(Exit Babette at back.) 

Wallis. Calm! — Rather wish we hadn't stayed, don't 
you? 

Hughie. She always was rather — difficult — when she 
calm. Wally, my son, one toast before we expire — 
Here's wishing all women where they ought to be. 

Wallis. Where's that? 

Hughie. Well, I was goin' to say the bottom of the 
sea, but it would be such a doocid chilly process callin' 
on 'em. 

(Kara heard calling " Babette.") 

* Wallis. Buck up! She's coming. 

(They link arms and stand with their backs to the fire. 
Kara enters.) 

Kara. Oh, you're here? 
Wallis. Hello, Kara. 
Hughie. You look beautiful, ma belle. 
Kara. I want just five minutes' chat with you two 
boys. 
Wallis. Delighted — only too delighted! 
Hughie. We're in luck, ain't we, old friend? 



68 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Kaea. Do you know what you are — yes, the pair of 
you? 

HuGHiE. Liars? 

Wallis. Do tell us what we've done. 

Kara. You know. You think you've both been clever 
— you will find your joke a poor one before I've done. 
He has told me everything — he has nothing — nothing 
whatever. Oh, I don't blame him — the young fool is in 
love with me — lies were his only chance, but if the 
power is ever given me to repay you two, I'll flay you 
for your joke — I'll flay you! You can remember that. 

HuGHiE. Such remarks make general conversation 
just a little difficult — don't you think, ma belle? 

Wallis. I — I — er — well, I positively don't know 
where to look, and that's a fact, old son. 

HuGHiE. Ain't he really got any fortune, Kara? 

Kara. As if you didn't know. 

HuGHiE. Then, 'pon my word, it just shows how dif- 
ficult it is to believe in appearances. 

Wallis. We thought he was a gold mine, didn't we? 

HuGHiE. I'd have backed my boots on it — after all 
we'd heard. 

Kara, (looking at them with scorn) I sent for you 
to tell you what I thought of you. I wanted to — but 
now you're here and I look at you, I wonder why I can 
be angry with such things as you — you're not men, or if 
you are, then men are such worms that I don't wonder 
that it's a glory to some of us to trample you under- 
foot. 

HuGHiE. Not worms, ma belle, not worms — don't 
trample worms. Call us grapes, ma belle, not worms — 
beautiful, beautiful grapes — then crush us under your 
feet and give us to tie world in wine — charming — quite 
charming. I'm in rather good form, ain't I, old son? 
(he hums jovially " Oh, call us the fine Muscatel " to the 
tune of " They Call Me the Belle of New York. ") 

(Babette enters hurriedly.) 



Bab. Madame will pardon me 

Kara. What— what— what? 

Bab. Madame get married in all such a hurry, she 
forget sings. 
Kara. What's that? 
Bab. Zis letter from Mr. Carewe. 
Hughie. 

and y Carewe!' 
Wallis. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 59 

(Kara is struggling angrily into pair of long gloves.) 

Kara. Carewe? Who is he? 

Bab. Ze Unknown Man — ze lunatic — ze £1000. 

Kara. Bah! Tear it up — who said I'd see him? 

Bab. Ze letter made Madame so laugh. Madame 
said " I will see him," and he is coming to-night. I 'ad 
forgot. You fix the appointment. I post ze letter — but 
den we get married so damn quick — we forgot sings. 

Kara. Send him away. I'm not in the mood to laugh 
at fools to-night. 

Bab. He is, of course, fool. But £1000— that not so 
fool. 

Kara. Who wants his £1000. 

Bab. Madame does. 

Kara. Quite right — so I do. 

Wallis. Unknown man? 

HUGHIE. £1000. 

Wallis. Carewe, too. What's up? 

Kara, (fiercely) Give me the letter, (she snatches 
it and reads, then laughs) It's preposterous! No man 
could be such a fool. 

HuGHiE. May we know? 

Kara. What's it got to do with you? (she reads 
again) £1000 — what if he should mean it— it — what if 
it shouldn't be a joke? 

Bab. I think him no joke — it read like great sense to 
me. 

Kara. It would to a fool like you. Shall I see him? 

(A pause — again she looks at the letter.) 

What time did I say I'd see him? 

Bab. Just now — it is on the strike. 

Kara. Oh, is it? (a pause, then suddenly) I won't 
see him! I've had enough worry for one day. My 
cloak, Babette. I'm going to the ball. 

Bab. Mais Madame — ! 

Kara. My cloak, I say. 

Bab. Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu — ! 

(She picks up cloak from chair; as she puts it on Kara 
she whispers.) 

£1000 is a £1000— Madame forgets. Suppose he mean 
it? Sousand pounds 

(The outdoor hell rings.) 



60 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

He is yere! 

(A pause; they all look at each other; then suddenly 
Kara flings oft her cloak. ) 

Kaba. Hang it all — I'll see him! Get out, you two! 

HuGHiE. But, Kara 

Wallis. Ma belle 

Kara. I'll settle our little score later; for the present 
— get out. I'm going to talk over a little business with 
this gentleman. 

HuGHiE. I wonder would your husband quite app- 
rove. 

Kara, (comes to him — he moves behind chair) 
Have you forgotten the old saying: "He laughs best 
who laughs last?" You'll both of you remember it 
yet. Good-night. Stop. I know nothing of this fel- 
low. He may be a madman for all I know — wait there 
you two. If he's tame, I can manage him — if he isn't, 
you must — that's all. 

Wallis. (aghast) A madman! 

HuGHiE. They have the strength of ten men. 

Kara. What's his name again? (looks at letter) 
Richard Carewe — know him? 

HuGHiE. Richard Carewe? (to W.) Do we? 

Wallis. Richard Carewe? (to H.) Do we? 

(A pause.) 

HuGHiE. No, we don't. 
Wallis. Never heard of him. 

(Kara talks to Babette.) 

Wallis. (to Hughie) The Imp's guardian. 

HuGHiE. Let's stay and see the fun. 

Wallis. Rather! 

Hughie. What makes you think he's mad? 

Kara. He has practically written and told me so. 
Into that room, please — you needn't come out unless I 
call you — into that room, please. 

Hughie. Charmed, I'm sure, to be chucker-out, 

Wallis. Always ready to die in the cause of beauty 
in distress. 

Kara. Thank you.— Into that room. 

(They retire into room, l.) 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 61 

Kara, (to Babette) Bring me the glass. 

(Babette 'brings her hand-glass and Kaba arranges her 
hair.) 

All right. 

(Babette goes out, closing the door. Kara suddenly 
rises and goes to door of the room where the two men 
have retired, shaking her fist at it.) 

You've tricked nie — you've tricked me — but you shall pay 
for it — you shall all pay for it — every man Jack of you! 

(Babette now returns with a card on tray.) 

(takes it and reads) Richard Carewe — what have you 
done with him? 

Babette. He is in ze dining room. 

Kara. Idiot! If you'd only use the little brains 
you've got, Babette, you would realize that I can't see 
Mr. Carewe through brick walls and a hall passage — 
bring him here. 

Babette. Oui, Madame. 

Kara, (re-reading letter) £1000, and he doesn't 

wish to see me — doesn't wish to talk to me 

It's the most extraordinary proposition; I wonder what's 
his game? 

Babette. (announces) Mr. Richard Carewe. 

(Dick enters. Kara rises and meets him — there is a 
slight pause.) 

Kara. Hew do you do, Mr. Carewe? 
DiCKN. How do you do? 

(Another pause.) 

Kara. I — I — (laughs) It's a little awkward ,isn't 
it? Won't you sit down? 

Dick, (slowly) You got my letter? 

Kara. Oh, yes, I got your letter. Do you know, I 
pictured you quite a different sort of man. I thought 
you must be a very old man. (pause) Are you sane? 

Dick. Perfectly. 

Kara. Your proposition is — odd — isn't it? 

Dick. I suppose it is. 



62 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Kara. I beg your pardon — would you like a whiskey 
and soda? 

Dick. No, thank you. 

Kara, (taking up letter) Here's your letter. Come 
now — it's a joke, isn't it? 

Dick. No. 

Dick. No. 

Kara. You really mean it? 

Dick. Absolutely. 

Kara, (slowly, looking at letter) You will give me 
£1000 if I will make my friends believe that you are 
— a — friend of mine? 

Dick. Yes. 

Kara, (referring to letter) For a month, you desire 
that our names shall be linked together — dear me, how 
comic it seems! And during that time you do not 
wish to speak to me — nor even to see me? 

(Dick boivs his head.) 

You must be quite m.ad, you know? 

Dick. Do you accept my offer? 

Kara. Well, one can hardly accept £1000 without 
seriously thinking it over, can one? What does it en- 
tail? 

Dick. Nothing but what is expressed in the letter. 

Kara. It seems just a little too good to be true, 
doesn't it? You don't happen to have brought the 
money with you, do you? 

Dick. Yes — I told you in my letter that I would. 

Kara, (rising in amazement) Then it's real — it's 
not a joke? 

Dick. Why should I joke? 

sbara. Well, upon my word — (she stares at him) 
Oh, I think I see the game. You want to waken my 
curiosity — to arouse my interest in you? 

Dick. No. 

Kara. Oh, yes, you do. Well, it's an expensive way, 
but I'm not sure that it's a bad one. (she laughs) 
Come now — I challenge you — you won't give me your 
word of honour that you will never seek to improve upon 
the conditions of your offer? That you'll never want 
to change your mind about not seeing me? 

Dick. I give you my word of honour now. 

Kara. Well, you're quite the oddest person I have 
ever come across. Let me see the money — convince me 
it isn't a dream. 

Dick, (taking out letter) The money is here. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 63 

Kara. It's not a cheque, is it? 

Dick. No, two bank notes. 

Kara. By Jove — you do mean business. 

Dick. Understand, from the time you take this our 

compact begins. 

Kara. Quite so — and it holds good for one month, 

Dick. Yes. 

Kara. You know you've no earthly security that I 
shall earn this money. 

Dick. Oh, yes, I have. 

Kara. What? 

Dick. Your sense of honour. 

Kara. Is that meant for a joke? 

Dick. No. 

(A pause.) 

Kara. You're a most extraordinary person. 

Dick. Is it to be a bargain? 

Kara. Yes. (she holds out her hand for the notes) 

Dick, (gives them to her) Thank you. I — I can 
go now — we have met for the first and the last time. 
Good-bye. 

(A pause.) 

I must ask you to forgive me for — for this insult. 

Kara. I like it, believe me. It's one of the pleas- 
antest insults I've ever experienced. 

Dick. But — but there is so much at stake. 

Kara. What do you mean? 

Dick. I — I cannot tell you. 

Kara. It really doesn't matter — the money speaks — 
and between you and me and the post, I wanted it 
rather badly. Good-bye, Protector-of-the-Poor. 

Dick. Good-bye. 

(The bell rings.) 

Dick, (turns and says hesitatingly) Some one 

Kara. Well? Oh, you don't want to be seen here, 

don't you? Is that it? You do good by stealth and 

blush to be caught on the stairs! 

(Babette is heard to open the door and exclaim in 
surprise. ) 

Bab. Monsieur! 



64 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

(A man's voice is heard.) 

HiRSCH. Back again! Is she in? 

Kara, (starts up) Hirsch! Jim! Back again! 
Back again! Quick — quick! do you mind? — go in there. 
I — I — this gentleman — I'd rather he didn't see you. 
Quick — just for a minute — do you mind. 

(Dick dows and goes into the other room, r.) 

Kara. Jim! — why has he come back? Why has he 
come back? 

(The door opens and Hirsh enters. He is a heavily- 
built, poiverful-looking man of Jewish extraction. She 
stands rigid — he comes slowly down — a silence.) 

Hirsch. Well? ' - 

Kara. How dare you come back? 

Hirsch. That's foolish — you knew I'd come sooner 
or later, didn't you? 

Kara. I— I 

Hirsch. Kara, (he holds, out his arms) 

Kara. No, no! 

Hirsch. What do you mean? 

Kara. You must go — you must go — we — we — never 
again! (fiercely) It's over — I told you! (she stamps) 
I told you once and for all, it's over. Never again! 

Hirsch. Wrong — always again — always and always 
— and you know it. 

Kara. Oh, why have you come back? 

Hirsch. You left me eight months ago because luck 
turned against me. 

Kara. I left you because you were sold up. I'm not 
good at sleeping on bare boards. 

Hirsch. Luck has turned again — you must come 
back. 

Kaba. Must! 

Hirsch. Must! You know me — when I say a thing 
I mean it. We will go South to-morrow. 

Kara. Not to-morrow. 

Hirsch. When will you be ready? 

Kara, (taking up letter, glancing at it, then slowly 
tearing it up) I have just made a contract. 

Hirsch. For how long? 

Kara. One month from to-day. 

Hirsch. It is too long — break it. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 65 

Kara. No — curiously enough, it's a contract I cannot 
break. 

HiKscH. Strange contract. 

Kara. It is. 

HiRscH. What prevents you breaking it? 

Kara, (with a laugh) My sense of honour. 

HiRSCH. Rubbish! 

Kara. I thought that would amuse you — it amuses 
me rather. 

HiRSCH. Break it. 

Kara. You must be patient. 

HiRSCH. I have been patient for eight months. I 
have stifled every thought — I have shut myself up with 
my dream of you, and compelled the luck to turn. It 
has turned. We are £14,000 to the good. When that is 
gone, I will be patient again — for the present, we will 
go South to-morrow. 

Kar^ I have said no. 

Kirs'- Look at me. — It isn't wise to play the fool 
with me. 

Kara. You must wait a month. 

HiRSCH. I will wait until, to-morrow. 

Kara. Don't be foolish — you bore me. 

HiRSCH. It's no contract — it's a man. 

(Enter Imp.) 

Kara. What if it is — that's my affair! 

HiRSCH. You dare! 

Kara. My dear Jimmy, you're not the only man in 
the world, you know. 

HiRSCH. Who is he? 

Kara. You wouldn't know him. 

HiRSCH. Who is he? 

Kara. If you really wish to know, his name is Rich- 
ard Carewe. (she calls) Mr. Carewe. 

HiRSCH. (starting forward fiercely) He's there! — 
you love him. 

(Dick enters,) 

Kara, (with a defiant laugh) What if I do? 
HiRscH. (throwing over the table) You devil! 
Kara. Help me! (she backs to the sideboard) 

(HiRscH springs towards her with uplifted hand; simul- 
taneously the Imp rushes down to stop him. Then 
Dick, by a quick movement, intercepts and seizes the 
boy. 

5 



QQ WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Imp. Keep back! 

Dick, (holding him) Go home. This is my quarrel. 

Kara moves down r. 

You heard what she said. She's mine. 

Imp. (facing him in a blaze of anger) Liar! She's 
my wife! 

(There is a long silence. Hughie, Wallis and Babette 
have entered. Dick turns slowly to Kara. 

Dick. Is this true? 
Kara. Yes. 

Imp. (in a voice shaken by paicion, and still facing 
Dick) Tell them you have lied, 

Dick, (very slowly) I've lied — I beg your pardon. 

(Another long, tense silence, broken by a light laugh 
from Kara.) 

Imp. (turns to her, imploringly) Kara! 

Kara, (coldly) Have you forgotten what I said to 
you to-day? 

(There is a pause, and, as the Imp sinks back heart- 
broken upon the sofa, she flings back her head haught- 
ily and sweeps to the door, saying loudly.) 

Kara. My cloak, Babette. Show these gentlemen out. 
Jimmy, take me to my carriage. I will explain. 

(HiRSCH laughs, and she sweeps out of the room on his 
arm. The hall door shuts with a bang.) 

Dick, (holding out his arms, pleadingly) My boy, 
my boy! 

Imp. (facing him, says slowly and quietly) Never 
again — you've killed it! 

(He turns from him and goes out of the house. Dick 
stands for a moment, motionless, heart-broken; then 
he repeats in a whisper, mechancially.) 

Dick, You've killed it! Why, since he was so high, 

I've Never again — he doesn't mean it — he — he can't 

mean it. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY -ONE. 67 

Bab. {comes to him with his hat and cloak) For 
Monsieur. 

Dick, (looks at her dazed, then realizes) Yes — I 
forgot — Oh, yes. He didn't mean it. I — I will go after 
him — he didn't mean it — he didn't mean it! 

(He goes slowly out after the hoy. Wallis and Hughie 
turn to each other and lift their glasses meaningly.) 

Hughie. Chin-chin, old son! Quite a busy evening! 

CURTAIN. 



\ 



G8 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 



ACT IV. 

Time. — The same night — ahoitt an hour later. 

Scene. — Dick's room in the demerit's Inn. Mrs. Eric- 
sow dozing in an easy chair — Phyllis loorking by her 
side. After a slight pause, she rises and goes to the 
window — draws the curtains a little and looks out. 

Mrs. E. sits up ivith a start) I must have dozed, 
it must be very late. 

Phyll. Very late. 

Mrs. E. Oh, my dear — we can't sit up any more. 

Phyll. We must — he can't be much longer now, at 
least — you needn't, mother, dear — I must. 

Mrs. E. Well, anyhow if I do sit up, I'll do it lying 
down in my room, this low chair gives me cricKs in my 
neck. 

Phyll. It'll be an awful blow to him. 

Mrs. E. Yes, dear, I'm afraid it will. What it is 
about young men that makes them go off and get mar- 
ried like that, I don't know. Are you going to stay 
here, or are you coming with me? 

Phyll. I'll stay here. 

Mrs. E. I couldn't keep my eyes open sitting up, 
perhaps it'll be better lying down. Oh, do lie down, too, 
dear, you look worn out, 

Phyll. I'm all right. We must be very kind to him 
when he comes, mother. 

Mrs. E. Yes, we will be — if I can keep awake. 

(Mrs. Ericson goes sleepily to her room — leaving Phyl- 
lis at the window.) 

Phyll. Oh, what can it be that keeps him! 
{Footsteps heard outside — then the electric hell rings.) 
Here they are! {she runs to hall door and opens it) 

(Sir Hobace, the Doctor and Col. Graeme come in.) 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 69 

Where's Dick? 

Waddles. Isn't he here? 

Col. We thought he was here. 

Phyll. Hasn't he been with you? 

Col Yes! 

Phyll. (looking from one to the other— observing 
their embarrassment) What's happened? 

(They don't answer.) 

He had a letter from that woman this afternoon. I 
recognized the writing on the envelope. Are they mar- 
ried? 

CoL: Who? 

f hyll. The Imp and she. 

{The three look greatly surprised.) 

CoL. You know — how did you know? 

Phyll. I knew days ago. The Imp told me— and— 
and— I got this letter this afternoon, saying that by the 
time I received it he'd be a married man. 

Waddles. Oh, why didn't you tell Dick? 

Phyll. I'd promised not to. He wanted to tell Dick 
himself. Besides, Dick must have known, because he 
got a note from the Imp's wife this afternoon. 

Col. But unfortunately the note did not say a word 
about the marriage. ^ ^ ^ 

Phyll. (amazed) Didn't say— I don t understand 
that. Would you mind telling me what's happened? 
I'm quite old enough to be told things. I'm not break- 
ing my heart for the Imp. I gave him his freedom very 
v/illingly. Tell me — Dick is suffering, I know that. 
He's keeping everything from me. I want to help him 
—I must help him— tell me what's happened. 

Col. I think we'd better. , ^ 

Doctor. Ah, shure— I'm glad you're not breakin 
your heart for the boy. 

Phyll. So am I. Tell me about Dick, please. 

Col. Well— this lady that the Imp has married 

Doctor. Wasn't a desirable party at all— at all. 
Col. And so Dick went to-night by appointment to 
— to buy her off. 
Phyll. Too late? 
Waddles. Too late. 
Doctor. That's just the devil of it. 
Col. And— and— the Imp and Dick have— well— they 



70 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

haven't exactly quarreled — but the boy knows now that 
his marriage has been a mistake. 

Phyll. Already? 

Col. I think the lady has transferred her afEections 
to some one else. 

Phyll. But she only got married to-day. 

Waddles. Some ladies are a little fickle, Phyllis dear. 

Phyll. Something awful must have happened. 

The three men nod.) 

{in a whisper) What? 

CoL. We don't know — yet. 

Phyll. Oh, Dick — poor Dick! 

Waddles. If you'd seen him walk oiit of that place 
to-night, you'd have said poor Dick, indeed. 

Col. You see Dick, knowing nothing of the marriage, 
proved to the boy — that the woman wasn't fit to be any 
man's wife. 

Doctor. And all the time the two were married. 

(There is a long, disconsolate pause.) 

Phyll. Where is he now — somewhere out there alone 
with it all. Oh, dear, oh, dear! (she goes to the win- 
dow and leaning against the curtains she has one quiet 
little sob all to herself) 

(The three men look at each other— then the Doctor 
says in a whisper.) 

Doctor. It's Dick she loves, after all. 

(The other two look at his incredulously for a moment, 
then, as the idea takes root — the Col. gives a low 
whistle.) 

Waddles, (gasps) You're right, you're right. Oh, 
what fools we've been! 

Doctor. We've found the silver lining, boys, there'll 
be a new member in the firm. 

CoL. But, does Dick 

Doctor, (breaking in with a smile) Av course he 
does — shure, don't we all? 

(The three men draw a long breath and turn and look 
gently at the girl — she is still standing staring out 
into the night waiting for Dick to come.) 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 71 

(tenderly) When he comes in, ye'll try and comfort 
him — won't you, my dear? 

Phyll. Oh, if only I could. 

Sir H. He'll be very lonely, Phyl. 

DOCTOR. Ah, if there was only some sweet woman 
who loved him-who could take his tired head upon 
her heart and tell him not to grieve-that 'ud do him 
good, I'm thinkin'. 

Waddles, {ahruptly) Is your mother up? 

Doctor, (rounds on him) Ah, shure— whats the 

good of that? XI- X T ^«« 

Waddles. My gracious, I didn't mean that. I was 

^^PHYLL^ ^^coming away from the window wearily) 
It's very late, if you'd like anything to eat and drink- 
it's all on the table in the dining room. 
Waddles. That's what I meant, man, when I said - 
Phyll. (suddenly listening) Hush! (a pause) 
He's coming. 

(8he goes up to door and listens.) 

Doctor. What did I tell you! She knows his step. 
Boys! I'm thinkin' this blow is the softest thing Mas- 
ther Dick has ever sthruck. ,^ ^. . _^^9 

Phyll. Shall— shall we go into the dinmg room? 

Doctor, (a little astonished) For why? 

Phyll. Perhaps he— he might like to be alone to- 
night—just to-night. 

Waddles. Well, I think p'raps four of us is too many, 
but — maybe — one. 

Doctor, 
and 

Colonel. 
Yes, yes! 

(They move hurriedly out) 

Waddles, (to Phyllis) You stay! 

(He goes out after the other two. The outer door is 
opened with a latch-key and Dick comes m wearily— 
he passes across the hall and into his oion room. 
ThroiDS his hat and coat on to a chair and stands for 
a moment lost in his thoughts. He doesn't see Phyl- 
LIS, who is in an alcove of the window. After a hit, 
he goes to the desk, unlocks it, takes out the letter— 



72 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

and reads it through, then holding it tenderly, as if 
it were a living thing — he whispers.) 

Dick. I did my best, old man, I did my best. 

(Phyllis comes in quietly — closing the door after her. 
She steals across to him and puts her hand tenderly 
on his shoulder.) 

Aren't you in bed? 

Phyll, No, dear. 

Dick. You should be child, it's late. 

Phyll. Is it? (then, with great tenderness, she 
slips her hand into his) Oh, Dick, dear, you look so 
tired. 

Dick. Do I? 

Phyll. You're not angry because I waited up? I 
knew you'd be tired, and I — I thought you might be 
lonely. So — so — I wanted to be with you, if you'd let 
me. I know about it all, Dick — the marriage — and — 
the rest. 

Dick. You know? 

Phyll. The Trinity told me. 

Dick, (a great pity comes over him for herq I did 
it for the best, dear. I'm very sorry. 

Phyll. Don't be sorry for me, Dick. He told me 
days ago about her, and I was glad he didn't love me — 
because — I didn't love him either. 

Dick. You didn't? 

Phyll. No! Where is he? 

Dick. I don't know. (then, with a long, indrawn 
sol), he sinks into the chair by the table and buries his 
head on his hands) Ih, my boy — my boy! 

Phyll. Oh, don't, Dick, don't. 

Dick. I tried my best to save him, I did, indeed. 

Phyll. I know you did, he knows you did. 

Dick. He doesn't, he hates me — how can he help it, 
he hates me — oh, my boy, my boy! 

Phyll. Dick! 

Dick, (rising and moving from her) Don't, dear, 
please don't. Leave me alone, I — I'd sooner be alone, 
just now. 

(And Phyllis, understanding, goes quietly away. He 
has moved towards the mantelpiece and bowed his 
head, there is a long silence, he stands there alone 
in his grief.) 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. Y3 

Be father — mother — all to him — and this is what I've 
done! 

(The hall door is heard to open and shut again softly, 
Dick is heedless of it, then the door of his room opens 
and the Imp comes in. Dick, at the sound, looks up 
and sees him. There is a pause.) 

Dick, (gently) You have come back? 

Imp. (with a laugh) Are you surprised? 

Dick. Yes. 

Imp. (bitterly) When a man arranges to lie away 
a woman's reputation to her husband, he shouldn't be 
surprised if the husband has a word to say on the sub- 
ject. 

(Dick looks at him, then says slowly.) 

Dick. I knew nothing of the marriage. What I did, 
I did for your sake. 

Imp. Thank you very much. 

Dick. I don't think you were wise to come here to- 
night — we — we can't see things clearly yet. You'd bet- 
ter go; come back to-morrow, perhaps then you will be 
able to understand. 

Imp. Oh, I quite understand now. I've learnt my 
lesson pretty thoroughly, thanks to you all. A woman, 
even, a man's wife, is a thing to be bought and sold. 
If you've taught me nothing else, Dick, you've taught 
me that. 

Dick. I've never taught you anything that wasn't 
true. No woman worthy of the name is to be bought. 

Ifflp. Ah, I know 'em now — you don't. Who was the 
chap who said every woman was at heart a wrong 'un? 
He knew life. It's only the accident of birth and cir- 
cumstances. Why, I daresay Phyllis 

Dick, (sternly) Stop there! (then very quietly) 
You'd better go, we are neither of us in a fit state to 
talk this matter over. We'd say what we didn't mean, 
and — and I might get angry with you. (a pause) I 
have asked your pardon for my share in this; at the 
same time, I must ask you to remember that I did what 
I thought was right. 

Imp. Our views of right and wrong differ. 

Dick, (gently) They may to-night. I'm sure they 
won't to-morrow. (he goes to the door and opens it) 

Imp. (hotly) I'm not going yet. There's a good 
deal I've got to say to you. 



74 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Dick. And a good deal I've got to say to you, but not 
to-night. 

Imp. {raising his voice) I will 

Dick. Hush! I said not to-night. 

Imp. (stamping) I will know the truth of this 
damned conspiracy against me. 

Dick. Stop! 

Imp. It has been a conspiracy, and you know it. 
What were you all at the club for? 

Dick, (quietly) I shall expect you in the morning. 

Imp. (getting beyond himself, faces Dick in a rage) 
Tell me now. 

Dick. I shall expect you in the morning. 

Imp. (lifting his hand to strike) You — you 

(Dick seizes his arm and holds him for an instant as 
in a vice, then lets him go, and says gently.) 

Dick. That would have been a pity, wouldn't it? 

(A long pause, then he takes the letter.) 

This is your father's letter to me, written when he lay 
dying, and you were a little child; in it he asks me to 
try and take his place. I have tried — you are of age 
now — you need me no longer, (and he tears the letter 
into two pieces) 

(The Imp is sitting upon the sofa, his head buried in 
his hands. A knock is heard at the outside door.) 

Who's that? 

(Dick goes and opens the door. A Cabman is seen out' 
side.) 

Cabman, (enquiringly) Richard Carewe? 
Dick. Yes. 

Cabman. Lady told me to deliver this note, most 
spechul. 

(Dick takes it and fumbles in his pockets for a coin, 
hasn't got one. He turns to the Imp.) 

Dick. Got a couple of shillings? 
Imp. Yes. 

(He hands Dick the coins, who, in his turn, hands them 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 75 

to the Cabman, ivho disappears, saying " Thank ye, 
sir." Dick closes the door and comes down to fire- 
place, opening the letter as he comes. He reads a lit- 
tle, then looks up at the Imp, who rises quickly, guess- 
ing intuitively.) 

Imp. It's from her. 

Dick. Yes. 

Imp. You can read it out. I'm not afraid — she can't 
write harder things than she said. 

Dick. " I have learnt from Mr. Hirsch that you are 
the young man's guardian, so I see now the reason of 
our compact. I am sorry you were too late, for his, for 
my own, and for your sake. However, don't worry, 
your young friend will have no difficulty in obtaining 
his freedom. I return your cheque for two reasons; 
one is, I'm sure Hirsch wouldn't approve of my receiving 
such a present even from my husband's guardian, the 
other is I don't want you to think you are the only fool 
in the world. I'll send you some roses from Monte 
Carlo." 

(A pause, he looks at the Imp, who laughs and goes up 
into the window, where he stands staring into the 
darkness. Then he speaks without turning.) 

Imp. When I told her that I should kill him, she 
laughed and said, " Very well; but when you are hanged, 
there'll be nobody left to deal with his successors "; that 
seemed logical, so I came away and left him to eat his 
supper. 

Dick, (amazed) You saw them? 

Imp. (nods) Just left 'em — they're together now. 

Dick, (going quickly to him) Oh, my poor old boy. 

Imp. I — I can't help laughing. My position is so 
very ridiculous, (he rises wearily) I — I'll go now. 

Dick. Where are you staying? 

Imp. Metropole. Good-night. 

Dick. Good-night. 

(The Imp goes slowly to the door, then turns to Dick 
and says huskily.) 

Imp. You — you might ask me to stay here. 
Dick, (gladly) Would you? 

Imp. Oh, Dick! (and he breaks down utterly as 
Dick, deeply moved, catches him in his arms) 

Dick, (half laughing, half soiling) Come, come, 



76 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

It'll all dry straight, we will work it through together, 
old man, shoulder to shoulder, as we used to be. 

Imp. All that I've said, just now, I didn't mean it, I 
didn't, indeed. I've been a brute to you, Dick, but I 
didn't mean to be. 

Dick. I know, old man — bless you, I know. You 
had to work it off on somebody, and I was nearest. 

Imp. (passionately) Dick — Dick! I'd like to get 
out of this country, just a bit. I must, I must — can't 
I go? There's always a war somewhere — I'd like to 
fight. 

Dick. Why not? Get along out and show 'em you're 
your father's boy, our boy. Then come back all over 
Victoria crosses and things, and — and the Trinity shall 
entertain you at a banquet. That's right, boy, buck up. 
The world's a damned hard fight, you've had the first 
knock, a stiff 'un, right under the jaw, but you're up 
again, old son, and the fight is yours to win, if you only 
choose. 

Imp. I choose. 

(And Dick wrings Ms outstretched hand.) 

Dick, (cheerily) Good man! Get along to bed, old 
son, you're dog tired, we'll think of the future in the 
morning 

(And the Imp goes out.) 

Dick. He's true grit, every inch of him. (then sud- 
denly) Here, here, I tore up his father's letter. I was 
a fool, (he picks up one piece) It's all right, Charlie, 
old man, I'll be able to face you yet. (he picks up the 
other piece) Come here. Come here! Get back into 
your place — I've been a fool! 

(And he puts the torn pieces back into his drawer as 
Phyllis comes in.) 

Phyll. (comes in quickly) He's back. I heard him 
go into his room. 

Dick. Yes, he's back. 

Phyll. Poor old Imp. 

Dick. Thank goodness he's got the pluck to take it 
like this. God knows it may be for the best after all. 
(then he turns and looks at Phyllis) Hullo! why — 
why — why — I can't have my little girl looking like this 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 77 

—black shadows under her eyes, this won't do — you're 
the tired one now. 

Phyll. (smiling sadly) No, I'm not. I'm only 
tired for you. I know how you must feel about all this, 
and somehow I don't seem to be able to help you a bit. 

Dick, (stroking her hair softly) Yes, you do, dear, 
you help me all the time. 

Phyll. (moving a little from him) Oh, I wish I 
could think I did. But (cheerfully) it's all right. The 
Imp's come back. And the Trinity is in the dining 
room having whiskies and sodas, so as you've got all 
you want, you'd like to go to bed. 

Dick. No, I shouldn't, but it's getting very late. 

(Phyllis turns on her heel and goes to the door.) 

(he calls her) Phyllis, it— it was very sweet of you 
to wait up for me, dear. Good-night. 
Phyll. Good-night. 

(She again goes to the door — again he calls her softly.) 



Phyll. (turning) What? (a pause) 
Dick. Nothing, I— I think you'd better go to bed, 
dear. 
Phyll. You were going to say something. 
Dick. No, no 

(She turns away — he stands watching her, then says 
quickly.) 

You're quite sure you never — (he stops, there is a 
pause — she looks at him and then away) 

Phyll. I was never in love with him, if that's what 
you mean. 

Dick. You never were — really? (gladly) 

Phyll. Never was, really — really. 

Dick, (after a pause) Ah, well, it's only postpon- 
ing the evil day. He's gone— you'll be the next to go, 
but you've been fairly happy while you've been here, 
haven't you, dear? 

Phyll. I've been very happy, Dick. 

Dick, (ivith a gasp) I wonder— (he stops again) 

Phyll. (coming a little nearer to him) What do 
you wonder? 

Dick, (hacking a little) Nothing. You really ought 
to go to bed, dear. 



LtfC. 



78 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Phyll. I'm going. 

Dick. I suppose what you said the other day about 
your mother — well, I suppose you'll be going altogether 
soon. 

Phyll. (gravely) I don't think I was quite just 
about mother the other day — she didn't say those things, 
really. 

Dick. Didn't she? Then, why 

Phyll. (slowly) Oh, because I was in a silly mood 
-^you would keep on saying things to me about the Imp 
and how happy I ought to be, and all that, and of course 
I wasn't a bit happy. I'm much hapier now. 

Dick. Now? 

Phyll. Well, because now he's not going to marry 
me, so I needn't marry him. I'm free now, Dick. 

Dick. Oh, I wish I was ten years younger. 

Phyll. I don't. 

Dick, (eagerly) Don't you? (he moves to her) 
Oh, Phyllis! 

(She meets his eye and he 'backs off again.) 

You really ought to go to bed, dear, it's quite late. 

Pkyll. Does it matter for once? 

Dick, (gathering courage) Phyllis, I — I — oh, I'm a 
fool, don't laugh at me. 

Phyll. I haven't. 

Dick. I — I — oh, Phyllis, I've never dared to tell any- 
one. I've never dared to tell myself — much less you. 

(A pause.) 

Phyll. What, Dick? 

Dick. That — that — oh, my dear, it's striking two — 
what would your mother say? 

Phyll. (very matter of factly) You're quite right, 
Dick, dear, it is very late. Good-night. The Trinity 

are in the dining room, I'm keeping you from them. 
Good-night. 

(She goes to door.) 

Dick. Don't go just yet. 

(She comes back.) 

Dick. I'm not usually such a fool — but somehow this 
seems so fearfully serious. I — I — you're a young girl. 



WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 79 

I'm forty. It isn't fair, is it? I mean, I daresay, you 
would out of the kindness of your heart, but — but — No, 
I'm a fool, everything's better as it is. Good-night, dear. 

(He turns from her and goes to the table — she stands 
looking at him for a moment, then says softly.) 

Phyll. You don't mean to say good-night, Dick, like 
that. Good-night. (she comes to him with her hands 
outstretched — their eyes meet, the touch of her hands 
conquers him) 

Dick, I must tell you — (a long pause, and he says 
in a whisper almost) I love you! 

Phyll. (simply) I love you, too, Dick. 

Dick. You love me! 

Phyll. I've always loved you, but you didn't seem 
to care. 

Dick, (dazed) You love me! 

Phyll. I love you. 

(There is a silence, and then he kisses her — there is 
another silence — then he says with a long sigh.) 

Dick. I thought everything had ended. Everything 
is just beginning — You love me — say it again. 
Phyll. Need I? 
Dick. Yes, say it again. 
Phyll. I love you. 
Dick. You love me. 

(A long pause — he kisses her — and tvhispers.) 

Again! 

Phyll. Again and always, I love you. 

Dick. Then what's the matter with anything? 

Phyll. Nothing. 

Dick, (in a hushed whisper) Nobody must ever 
know. 

Phyll. Why not? 

Dick. I don't know — but — but — oh, they mustn't — 
say it again, 

Phyll. Tell everybody — are you ashamed of me? 

Dick. Ashamed! Here — hi! No, no, before they 
come, say it again — just in a whisper. I love you, of 
it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Phyllis, 
Phyllis, where have I been hiding myself all these years? 
you've opened out life to me. 

Phyll. (whispers) I love you. 



80 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

Dick. But — but oh, I'm forty, dear. 

Phyll. I love you. 

Dick. I'm — I'm an old bachelor. 

Phyll. I love you. 

Dick, {with a cry of delight) Don't whisper it, 
shout It. We love eacvh other, and we're going to be 
married. Let's tell 'em, let's tell 'em. Waddles, Miles, 
Doctor— what are they doing? How shall I tell 'em? 

Phyll. It's very easy. 

Dick, (ruefully) Is it? Here, I've called 'em, you 
tell 'em — that's fair. 

(Waddles, the Doctor, and the Soldier-Man enter hur- 
riedly.) 

The Three. Old man 

Dick. The Imp's come home — and — and we're none 
of us to worry, because he's going to be a man. 

The Three. Oh! (vaguely) 

Dick. And— and— Phyllis has got something to say 
to you. 

(The three men, with instant comprehension, wheel 
round to Phyllis.) 

Colonel, (eagerly) Is it all right? 
Phyll. (smiling) Yes. 

Colonel. Oh, my dear! (and he takes her hands 
and kisses her fervently) It's our right. 

(He hands her to the Doctor, who does the same and 
hands her to Waddles, who folloivs suit.) 

The Three. Good luck to you — it — it — it's splendid. 
Dick, (taking her) Yes, isn't it? Splendid. 
Omnes. Kiss her, kiss her! 

Dick. I'm not afraid. I— I did it all by myself just 
now. 

(He kisses her.) 

Waddles. Thank goodness, it isn't a quadrity any 
longer — it's a quantity. 
Omnes. It is — it is! 
Waddles. With a power to increase our number. 

CURTAIN. 



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